


On A Scale of One to Ten, How Is Your Pain?

by Sontalia



Series: The Girl That Fell Through Time [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Drinking, F/F, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lesbian Sex, Mature Chapters are Labelled and Skippable, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Self-Doubt, Slipstream Incident (Overwatch), Speedy Recovery, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sontalia/pseuds/Sontalia
Summary: Lena Oxton is gone, presumed dead in the fiery crash that destroyed the Slipstream. And it's tearing Angela Ziegler apart. She blames herself for the death of her girlfriend, along with many of the other tragedies that just seem to keep happening. At least she has her other friends to fall back on, but what will she do when she can't even trust them anymore?
Relationships: Ana Amari/Reinhardt Wilhelm, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Gérard Lacroix/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Torbjörn Lindholm & Reinhardt Wilhelm, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: The Girl That Fell Through Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707826
Comments: 50
Kudos: 62





	1. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! Here's part 2 of my new series, The Girl That Fell Through Time! If you haven't already read it, I do recommend you check out part 1: although you don't necessarily need to read it to understand what happens in this part, it will definitely give context and help some of the scenes have more impact.

“We are here today to remember the life of Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton. She gave her life in the service of Overwatch: a test pilot pioneering some of the newest technologies in the world,” echoed the solemn voice of Commander Jack Morrison through the silent, crowded hall. “But all tests come with a risk. And Lena paid the price. We will always remember her name, just like we do for every agent that falls in battle, because she showed the same bravery, the same dedication, the same pride. The same fearless commitment to making the world a better place.”

Quiet tears began to roll down Angela’s cheeks at his words. Even though Lena was not officially employed by Overwatch, they had given her the same beautiful ceremony, complete with laurels and medals for bravery and honor. By the doctor’s side, sat her friend Winston, tears of his own working their way down his cheeks.

Out of everyone, Angela and Winston had taken Lena’s death the hardest. For Winston, the guilt and sadness ate away at him. He felt responsible for what had happened: it was his design that had failed, and his friend was gone as a result.

But for Angela, it was even worse. For her, Lena was not just her friend. Even though they hadn’t known each other for long, she had fallen desperately in love with that remarkable woman. Her smile, her laugh, her passion, things that Angela had barely realized she had been missing until Lena had brought them into her life. It wasn’t just a passionate infatuation. She had had those in the past, but this had been different. They had just clicked, like she never had with anyone else.

But now she was dead, killed in the fiery crash that had destroyed the Slipstream during its very first teleportation test. And Angela was left behind, seeking out Winston for company and comfort while she tried to come to terms with it.

She only vaguely heard Winston being called to give his own speech, so she attempted to drag herself out of her reverie to listen. Ever since Lena’s death, the world felt disorienting, as if a vital part of her very being had been stripped loose, and she often found herself becoming lost to her own thoughts. Sometimes she would miss entire conversations, distracted by the memory of Lena’s smile, imagining the brunette laughing at something Winston or McCree had said, or the beautiful, attractive smirk she would wear as she pulled her in for a kiss. Now, those memories would often distract her, every emotion they caused tainted with sadness from the knowledge that they would never see each other again: the knowledge that Angela never would get a chance to kiss her, or hug her, or even fulfill her promise to celebrate her return with cuddles.

“Even in her short time with us, Lena had an impact on everyone she met,” Winston said, trying to keep his voice smooth, the tears in his eyes only slightly choking his words. “Her personality shone on everyone, always brightening people’s lives. She was one of my best friends, and I’m going to miss her every day. I know I’m not the only one who will, but when we think of her, we don’t have to miss her spirit: her courage, her happiness, her hope. Those live on in each and every one of us, and we can honor her by remembering that,” he finished, finally allowing himself to cry freely.

Vaguely, he gestured for Angela to take his place, making his way back to a seat and burying his head in his hands. The blond woman knew she looked red-eyed and grief-stricken, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care what people thought of her. Shakily, she stepped forward and turned, finding the sympathetic, tearful faces in the crowd, and drew some courage from them. Trying to speak calmly, she briefly told the story of how they met, remembering Lena’s smile, her joyous laugh. She barely made it through before her voice caught, the lump in her throat becoming too much to handle.

Angela ran her hand along the top of the ceremonial coffin, knowing it was empty since no body had ever been found, feeling as though she was saying goodbye to Lena for the last time. “I loved her,” she stuttered. “And I miss her every day. And I will always, _always_ remember her.”

She trudged back to her seat, tears rolling down her face as she returned to Winston’s side. With that, the service drew to a close, and to the background of the traditional ceremonial music, Lena’s coffin was lowered into the earth, and she became just another unremarkable headstone at the Overwatch Headquarters Cemetery.

“How are you doing?” Winston asked, walking at Angela’s side as they made their way back to their respective homes.

The doctor still felt tears in the corners of her eyes, but she managed to smile sadly at her friend. “Badly. I still miss her so much. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Winston returned her sad smile, wiping his cheeks with one hand as he brought the other to rest reassuringly on her shoulder. “I guess we have to move on. It’s the best we can do.”

The doctor merely nodded in acknowledgement, wishing she knew _how_ to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all thought! I'm sorry to throw another sad chapter on you like this, but unfortunately, things will probably get a lot worse for Angela before they get any better :(
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!


	2. Medical Emergency

She tried burying herself in work. She supposed she should be pleased: her nanorobots were finally working exactly as intended and the Valkyrie suit was in its final phase of testing. One of the biggest achievements in her life was on the verge of success. But her motivation had evaporated, and work felt more like a distraction than anything else.

The world had lost its color. Sometimes a certain laugh or smile, or the accent of a passing agent would remind her of adorable brown eyes, a cheeky smirk, and the most British accent she had ever heard. A month ago, that image would have brought happiness, knowing that they would soon be chatting, sharing dinner, or watching a movie together in the privacy of Angela’s quarters. But now, Lena was gone, so they were nothing more than memories, sending her spiraling in a whirlwind of self-doubt and guilt.

Occasionally, her friends would catch her lost in thought; tears dripping slowly onto a photograph of Lena as she traced the contours of her face with a shaking thumb. No matter how many times she was told that it was not her fault, or that she should stop blaming herself for something she could not control, her aching heart could not help but wonder:

_Could I have stopped her?_

_Could I have saved her?_

It was tearing the doctor apart. Maybe if she had requested just one more test, one more check of all the systems, they could have found whatever problem had caused the crash before it occurred. They could have automated the ejection system, or even the entire flight. She should have done _something_.

She knew her friends were probably right. Logically, there was not much she could have done, so it was no use blaming herself. But while her brain knew it, convincing her heart was far more difficult.

To Angela’s further displeasure, the story was like a drug to all the tabloids and gossip magazines of the world. Of course, she should have guessed that their handholding, especially when Lena was being overwhelmed by the swarm of reporters, would not have gone unnoticed. And since neither woman was in any way ashamed of their sexuality, and had obviously never tried to hide it from others, it took said reporters all of a second to put two and two together.

And while merely discovering her relationship with Lena would have already been gossip enough, the accident meant that they were all but falling over themselves for an interview. They were always itching for Overwatch’s drama, especially with the organization steadily falling out of the public favor, so the reaction of its top doctor to a failed experiment that led to the death of her secret girlfriend would make instant front-page news.

Thankfully, Commander Morrison managed to mostly shield her from their scrutiny, citing some obscure UN regulation that prevented all but the commanders of its military organizations from being interviewed by members of the press. And while that kept her from needing to actually answer their questions, it could not stop them from speculating, and Angela had seen her name, along with Lena’s, on far too many headlines for comfort.

It was infuriating, and between that frustration and her guilt, Angela was feeling herself begin to sink into a pattern of anger and self-deprecation. So instead, she did what she normally did when she sensed her emotions were starting to get the better of her: she smothered them with work.

Most days, she would arrive at her quarters well past midnight, shattered from exhaustion after a workday of 16 hours or more, her eyes already closing as she artlessly collapsed on her bed. But despite her tiredness, rest did not come easily. Her thoughts often kept her awake, leaving her tossing and turning until she gave into temptation, taking several swallows from a bottle of vodka until her mind was sufficiently numbed to fall into a restless sleep.

But dreams provided no refuge from her self-criticism. Instead, at this point, the nightmares would start. Every night, they were filled with people shouting, alarms beeping, and worst of all, Lena’s final tearful declaration of love as she resigned herself to death. Immediately followed by the horrific explosion that was now etched into her memory, then silence as every monitor and sensor flatlined.

Angela didn’t know which was worse: the flames and scattered remnants of the aircraft, or that brutal, agonizing silence that followed, leaving Lena’s final words echoing through her mind.

_“Tell Angela I love her.”_

It was after another one of these dreams that Angela found herself waking with a start. Her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, her breath coming in rapid gasps. At first, she looked around in a panic, disoriented from sleep and wondering where she was, but as she regained consciousness, the beeping noises of the alarms and warnings in her dream steadily transformed into the sound of her intercom, gently calling her attention.

She sniffed, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of the wetness that had formed there, then she reached over to respond to the call.

“This is Doctor Ziegler,” she mumbled.

“Doctor, this is Commander Morrison,” came the familiar voice over the phone. “Listen, I’m really sorry to wake you, but we have a transport coming in from the mission in Austria and they have wounded. I wasn’t going to ask you, but as I recall, last time I put Moira on call for something like this because I didn’t want to bother you, you threatened me with quite a lot of bodily harm.”

“I still stand by what I said,” Angela replied as she rolled out of bed with a sigh. “And don’t forget it. Her medical license was revoked, remember? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Angela. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll probably be reading reports anyway. No rest for the weary, after all,” he replied, almost audibly smiling.

The doctor made a small noise of agreement as she glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

_5:14. Maybe three hours of sleep? Well, more like two and a half if I’m honest._

“Well, I’ll let you get to it,” the commander finished, letting out a rather large yawn himself and ending the call rather abruptly.

Angela let out another sigh, rubbing her eyes tiredly, then stood up and stretched before stumbling to the bathroom to wash her face. She really should go back to sleep and let someone else deal with the emergency, but with her insomnia the way it was, she would be lucky if she managed even that.

Blearily, she snapped on the bra that hung over the back of her desk chair and threw on a t-shirt. She paused, briefly considering a shower before dismissing the idea. The transport would probably be arriving any minute now, and she needed to be ready. Recovering her pants, which she had draped over the footboard of her bed last night, she only briefly became tangled in the legs before fastening them in place. With considerable effort, she somehow managed to shove her shoes onto her feet before slipping into her lab coat and departing her room.

The halls were dark and quiet at this time of the morning, her footsteps one of the only noises to be heard as the majority of the base slept. However, as she approached the clinic, the sound and life around her gradually picked up, and she soon found herself among the bustling doctors, rushing to prepare for the incoming wounded.

Angela instinctively leapt into action, beginning to direct the traffic to the best of her ability as she attempted to reduce it from a complete mess into merely organized chaos. Her voice raised in volume until it was nearly a shout, her tiredness rapidly forgotten in the disarray.

“Not that one. Get the other kit, Schumer. The cauterizer in that one is broken.”

“Get another bottle of morphine from storage, Jefferson, just in case.”

“Dammit, Campbell, set up the surgery equipment in _that_ corner! Otherwise we have to lift things over the patients!”

“Roberts, make sure you pick up the… Fuck!” Angela was cut off from her rapid-fire tirade by a trolley slamming into the back of her heel, sending a stabbing pain shooting up her leg. She staggered briefly, then turned to glare at the culprit, but they were already gone.

Making a mental note to pay more attention, she moved slightly further out of the main jam, slowly rolling her ankle to restore some feeling to what was definitely going to bruise. She shouted out a few more directions, limping slightly, but she eventually managed to get things somewhat under control.

Then, before she knew it, they were here. Stretchers of wounded filed in through the door, their groaning occupants rather unceremoniously dumped on hospital beds before being surrounded by nurses and technicians.

There were maybe 15 wounded, many of them badly, and almost none of their injuries were patched up beyond only the simplest of dressings. Evidently their combat medic had been either wounded or killed early in the mission, leaving the soldiers to be haphazardly patched up by their colleagues as they were being rushed back to headquarters.

The pain in her ankle forgotten, Angela immediately began triage, rapidly assessing the condition of the soldiers with a trained eye. Luckily, it seemed that most of the injuries fell into the “painful but probably going to live” category, including bullet wounds to the arms, lower legs, shoulders, and other less vital regions.

Leaving a few staff to deal with them, Doctor Ziegler immediately turned to the critically wounded patients, and seeing that the woman who had taken a particularly nasty bullet wound to the stomach was already beginning to receive treatment, Angela turned her attention to the remaining patient.

He was pale and unconscious and despite the bandaging, a pool of red had already formed around his leg, rapidly soaking the previously clean operating table as it bubbled from the entry and exit wounds frighteningly quickly. He had lost a lot of blood, and Angela could tell from both the speed of the slightly pulsating flow of liquid and the position of the wound that the bullet had probably cut into his femoral artery, meaning that he needed treatment _now._

The surgery flew past in a blur, the doctor performing well-practiced movements to staunch the bleeding and begin a transfusion from one of the many packs they had brought out of storage. She had been correct: the bullet had hit the man’s femoral artery and if she had had the chance to treat him _not even 10 minutes earlier,_ he would have easily survived. But as it was, he lay there, on the verge of death from half a dozen causes due to the damage his body had taken from the extensive blood loss.

The man’s wife had arrived around 7:00, having immediately rushed to the base at the news, and now sat beside him, tears in her eyes as she desperately gripped his hand. Angela stood behind her, having just finished sterilizing her hands after completing treatment of yet another patient: the final soldier to be bandaged and set on the path to recovery. Slowly, she sat beside the woman, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Will he be alright?” the crying woman asked, tearful and fragile.

“I don’t know,” the doctor replied. “I hope so.”

“I barely even said goodbye,” she continued, opening up to Angela as she felt the arm tighten around her shoulders. “It was just supposed to be a routine mission. I never realized he might not come back.”

Angela merely nodded, knowing _exactly_ how she felt. She could only hope that her work would save this stranger the pain she had gotten to know so well.

_I wish I had said a better goodbye to her._

Call it doctor’s instinct, or just basic pessimism, but deep down, Angela had a feeling the soldier wouldn’t survive. He went into shock and despite the best efforts of her and her medical teams to save him, he was declared dead at 7:53. Sometimes, even the some of the best technology on the planet was just not enough.

The heartbroken woman sobbed into Angela’s shoulder as the body was carried away, to which she replied by rubbing her arm and telling her that she was sorry and that she _understood_. She understood better than most how agonizing it was to watch helplessly as a loved one disappeared. The doctor felt her own eyes begin to moisten, seeing this complete stranger break down on her shoulder, going through the same grief that had been haunting her since the accident.

And suddenly, she realized how much she had done this since she became a doctor at Overwatch. How many times she had to comfort heartbroken husbands, wives, parents, children. How often she told them that their loved ones would not be coming home today. Before, it had been rather abstract. Of course, she felt for them with all the empathy in the world, but she didn’t _know_ their pain. She had never experienced it herself.

When her parents had died, she had been far too young to remember it. Even when other Overwatch agents died, she was rarely knew them well enough to feel it on such a personal level. But now... now she knew how it really felt.

Eventually, something within her snapped.

_I can’t… I won’t let this keep happening._

_All of this, I can stop it._

The image of the Valkyrie suit appeared in her mind, tantalizing her with a possibility that she had hardly considered.

_If I had been there, I could have saved him._

_I could save all of them._

_Lena always believed in heroes. And heroes never die._

_Not if I have anything to say about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We've finally gotten to the part of the story where Doctor Ziegler becomes Mercy! The thing is, I always thought it was kind of weird how someone that hates violence so much would become a combat medic, so I wanted to include a bit of character motivation for her. And while I'm trying to keep this entire story as close to canon as I can, I figured it fit the plot better here, so sacrifices had to be made. Let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> And of course, if you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos or any other comments you have about this chapter, or even the plot as a whole :) it means the world to me!


	3. First Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - This chapter contains violence. It isn't too graphic, but I wanted to make sure to let everyone know beforehand, since it is a bit of a departure from what I've been writing so far.

_This is it._

_Time to prove myself._

Angela fidgeted slightly in her seat, nervousness filling her body. It was her first mission, and she could not afford to make mistakes. She was going to prove that she could do it, not only to herself, but to everyone that doubted her abilities and determination.

McCree and Genji, of course, had been an extraordinary help over the past several months. Even without being asked, both men were happy to volunteer their time whenever they could to help their friend learn to fight and defend herself. How to aim so that she wouldn’t miss, how to move so that she wasn’t hit, and even how to fight back in hand-to-hand combat. And while she knew they were probably going easy on her, at least at first, the incorporation of the Valkyrie suit into their training exercises had definitely made things much more interesting and challenging for everyone.

For hours each day, the training range would be filled with the sounds of artificial gunshots and pulse rounds, as well as the much quieter clatter of Genji’s plastic training shuriken, as the two Blackwatch agents helped the cadet to hone her skills and continued to perfect their own.

But now, it was a real pulse pistol that hung by her side. She just hoped she never had to use it.

Winston and Amélie, naturally, had been rather concerned when Angela had announced her decision to become a medic. Especially Winston, who obviously felt very responsible for the Slipstream accident, was feeling especially guilty when it seemed that he was losing yet another of his friends to its aftermath. And despite her repeated reassurances that she was doing this for everyone, not solely for Lena, he still seemed unconvinced.

But regardless of her reasons, Angela’s training helped her a lot. It was something new… something different on which to focus her attention. Of course, that was not to say that providing medical services bored her in any way: it was still her passion and her calling, after all. But even if signing on as an agent eventually came to nothing, it had at least provided a welcome distraction from the depressing thoughts that often assailed her when she was doing paperwork.

And once they had both seen how much the distraction was actually helping her, both Winston and Amélie had become her biggest supporters, obviously still unnecessarily reminding her to be careful, but also encouraging her whenever they could. In fact, as she waited in the transport, Angela found herself remembering one of those video calls with Amélie, which had taken place last night:

_“How are you doing, ch_ _érie?” her friend had asked._

_Angela thought for a moment, running the question through her mind. How_ was _she doing?_

_Eventually, she settled on the most honest answer she could find. “I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “Some days I manage to avoid thinking about Lena for hours, and on others the nightmares are so bad they make me want to stay in my room all day.”_

_Am_ _élie gave her a sympathetic look. “No one should expect you to recover immediately. It will take your heart time before it can heal.”_

_Angela smiled sadly. “I know. Life is just so unfair sometimes, you know? The complete assholes always seem to live forever, but someone like her…” She paused to wipe at misty eyes. “She was such a wonderful person, Am_ _élie. Kind and caring and full of life. She made me smile when I had almost forgotten how.”_

_“I know, Angela. Next time we see each other, you will get a hug, whether you want it or not,_ _ça va?”_

_“I wouldn’t mind. I think I need it,” the doctor replied. “Thank you.”_

_“Any time,” she said with a smile, and once again, Angela felt a surge of affection for her best friend. What did she do to deserve someone like Am_ _élie?_

_They sank into a companionable silence, their thoughts miles away yet enjoying the feeling of friendship. Even though they were not together in person, just remaining on the call together was providing a sense of companionship that Angela had been missing in recent days._

_Eventually, Angela broke the silence, the thoughts swirling through her head finally reaching a breaking point. “What do_ you _think?”_

_Am_ _élie gave her a confused look, so she elaborated. “About my becoming an Overwatch agent… or even just the mission tomorrow. What do you think?”_

_“Hmmm,” Am_ _élie replied, pausing to give her friend a thorough look. After thinking for several moments, she continued, “Well, this is what you wanted to do, is it not? And I’m no psychiatrist, but you’ve seemed to have a bit of a spark again these past few months, so who am I to judge? Go be the best Overwatch agent the world has ever seen,_ Mercy _. Make me proud tomorrow, oui?”_

_The doctor couldn’t help but smile faintly at the use of her callsign, something her and Am_ _élie had come up with (with a suggestion or two from Torbj_ _örn, but she would never admit that) which was to become the name by which she was known to the rest of the world._

_“I’ll try,” she responded, feeling rather unsure of herself. “I still don’t know why they aren’t making me shadow an actual field medic first…”_

_Am_ _élie rolled her eyes slightly. “Because, ch_ _érie, you are already their top doctor. They would have to be mad not to trust you.”_

_“That’s the problem,” Angela sighed. “I know they trust me. I’m just not sure I trust myself.” She knew it was rather pointless to have doubts at this point, but her mind could not help but remind her of what happened to some of the people that also trusted her. The ones she was unable to save._

_Ones like that soldier from several months ago. Or her beautiful girlfriend._

_“You will do brilliantly, Angela. I believe in you,” her friend had replied._

She really was lucky to have a friend like Amélie.

The mission was simple. A week ago, one of Overwatch’s supply depots had stopped responding to communications from headquarters. While it was probably a simple connection failure or something of the like, Commander Morrison had assembled a team to check on it, just to be certain.

In essence, it was nearly the perfect first mission. With both Reinhardt and Torbjörn also assigned to the mission so they could show her the ropes, it promised to be a nice and easy orientation with two veteran agents to help keep everything under control.

The flight, too, had been rather uneventful. It passed in relative silence, with little but a few jokes or comments passed between the two older agents to break the monotony. Occasionally, Angela attempted to join their conversation, but found herself unable to think of much to say, the tension she felt at the impending mission making any potential efforts at friendly communication futile.

The Alps had receded in the distance, making way for the forests that populated the rocky foothills, and eventually the grey concrete warehouse came into view. It was a flat, ugly building, completely lacking the soaring beauty of the Swiss Headquarters or Watchpoint Gibraltar. Basic and utilitarian, its rather menacing appearance was only exacerbated by a complete lack of any visible people or activity.

After running one or two scouting loops around the area, the pilot set the transport down on the pad and cut the engines, leaving the blanket of silence to descend over them. After so much time in the air with the rumble of the engines always a constant companion, the lack of noise was almost deafening as the three agents began to stretch and move around the passenger cabin. Angela removed her seatbelt and peered doubtfully out the window. She felt that there should be at least _someone_ outside, even if only to check on the sound of their arriving aircraft.

As she scrutinized the apparently abandoned warehouse, a massive hand came down to rest reassuringly on her shoulder. She looked up, meeting the kindly gaze of Reinhardt, who gave her an encouraging smile. “There’s nothing to be worried about, Angela,” he said, his normally booming voice quietened somewhat in an attempt to comfort her. “You’ve always done excellent work in the past, and anyway, Jack said this would be an easy mission.”

Angela attempted to return his smile, determined not to let her nervousness show too obviously. “Thanks, Reinhardt,” she replied tightly.

With that, their motley crew prepared to exit the transport. They had arrived mostly prepared for action, their kits already nearly assembled, with only a few remaining parts to be equipped. While Torbjörn mounted his turret to the back of his armor and Reinhardt put on his helmet, Angela prepared the Valkyrie suit for its first field test.

Compared with Torbjörn and Reinhardt, she had the most to prepare since her suit’s metal wings made sitting difficult, so she had been unable to wear it during the flight, instead spending the entire trip in her white t-shirt and black leggings. Now, however, she was able to quickly slip on the torso piece and connect it to the neural interface that she would wear under her hat. She followed this with a modified Overwatch combat medic jacket, which had slots cut in the back for her wings along with extra pouches and holsters for the tubes of the yellowish liquid that contained her nanorobots. Finally, her hat completed the ensemble, protecting the neural transmitter and making her look at least somewhat like a normal Overwatch field agent.

The neural interface was a strange system, and at first it had been rather difficult to get used to the fact that she could fly using nothing more than her mind for control. Still, it was astoundingly effective, and Angela, ‘ _Mercy,’_ she had to remind herself, could quickly and easily glide around a battlefield, administering nanite healing wherever she was needed.

Clutching her caduceus staff, she stepped out of the transport, and followed Reinhardt and Torbjörn to the front gate. She glanced back, making brief eye contact with the transport’s equally nervous pilot, and the two shared a brief, anxious grin before turning back to their respective tasks.

Having already tried the intercom in the vague hope of a response, Torbjörn punched in an activation code, but frowned when the keypad made a negative-sounding beep.

“Hmm. Maybe they changed it since last time,” he muttered, trying another possible password to no avail.

However, despite Torbjörn’s best efforts, five minutes and twenty attempts later, the door remained firmly sealed. Grumbling in frustration, he turned to the other two. “Apparently, I don’t know the password,” he complained angrily, making a vaguely helpless gesture in the direction of the door. “Even though I checked before we left.”

The three agents shared a glance. It was obvious that something had happened to the workers here, but why? It could be a simple robbery, as Commander Morrison had also suggested, but who would go to all the trouble to steal from an Overwatch supply warehouse? There were no weapons, no valuable goods, not even important documents or information. The warehouse stored food, clothing, and other basic supplies that were invaluable to the daily function of the organization, but relatively useless to any potential burglars.

Sensing the rise in tension, Reinhardt stepped in. He let out a deep chuckle and stepped up to the metal door, “Let me try!” he said, giving Angela a wide grin.

Torbjörn muttered something under his breath as he stepped back, but Angela could not make out much beyond “useless” and “oaf.” Reinhardt’s grin just got wider, and when his friend was clear, he simply swung his rocket-powered hammer at full force, slamming it right into the extremely solid-looking door. With a deafening clang, it was blasted clear off its hinges, spinning off into the darkness of the building’s interior.

“Haha!” Reinhardt chortled triumphantly. “Never stood a chance!”

Angela jumped in shock, glancing at Torbjörn, but he appeared as impassive as ever.

“We’re gonna have to pay for that, you know,” he grumbled, but nevertheless proceeded to illuminate the hallway using a flashlight attachment for his claw.

As Torbjörn disappeared into the building, Reinhardt beamed at Angela before following in his footsteps, clearly seeing his efforts as a complete success. She shook her head, and despite her nervousness, she let out a small chuckle at the antics of the two longtime friends.

Unfortunately, despite Reinhardt’s attempt to keep the mood cheerful, it rapidly dissipated as they made their way further into the building. The interior was pitch dark, with the only lighting coming from the flashlights carried by the team, shining down empty, echoing hallways.

This felt _awful._ The tension of not knowing when something might happen, if anything even happened at all. Or what that something might be. At every noise, be it a creak of a light fixture or a scuttling noise likely made by a small rodent, their flashlights whipped around, seeking the source of the disturbance, but finding nothing. At one point, the deep huffing sound of moving air made her jump and look around, only to realize she was so keyed up, she was actually able to hear Reinhardt’s breathing.

It wasn’t that Angela was scared, really. The prospect of some form of action, like coming to the aid of a wounded worker, was well-covered by both her training and her naturally cool head in a crisis. Rather, the pit that had formed deep in her stomach was instead born out of the complete _inaction_ , just as soldiers feel on the eve of battle.

The feeling only compounded when they exited the hallway into the main room of the warehouse, which held stacked rows upon rows of crates as far as the beams of their flashlights could reach. Beyond those beams, their eyes could make out absolutely nothing.

Finding a fuse box, Torbjörn flipped open the lid, his fingers rapidly rummaging for a way to restore the power. Meanwhile, Reinhardt tore open one of the crates, the completely untouched bags of food rations that he found only proving what they already suspected: this was not a robbery.

“Got it,” Torbjörn muttered, and suddenly the lights flickered to life, bringing their harsh, fluorescent glow to every corner of the massive room. Unfortunately, although the room was brighter, the illumination did little to make it any less eerie. “I’m gonna try to figure out what happened here,” he continued, making for a computer terminal in what was probably the supervisor’s office, leaving Mercy and Reinhardt to keep watch.

“What do you think happened to everyone?” Angela whispered softly. Nevertheless, despite her hushed tone, her voice rebounded multiple times off the concrete walls, the echo feeling almost deafening before it finally died back down below the faint electrical hum of the lights.

“I have no idea,” Reinhardt replied in a similar tone, setting a hand on her shoulder.

Mercy thought for a moment, then continued to think aloud. “Well, obviously, it wasn’t a problem with the radio or there would be people here. Nothing was taken, so that wasn’t it. There’s no hint of anyone, just us three, so why would someone…” Suddenly, she trailed off, struck by how exposed their position felt.

She froze, her brain suddenly whirling at a hundred kilometers per hour as she scanned the room. Then, her eyes caught a dull, reddish glow coming from a distant corner, and her stomach dropped.

_Oh fuck._

“Get down!” Angela yelled, slamming her body into the massive Crusader. Normally, even if she had charged at full speed into him, she would have done little to stagger the heavily built man, and she would have come away with nothing but a massive bruise and a hell of a headache. But with her shout of warning, he allowed himself to be pushed aside by the impact, and both of them collapsed to the ground in a crash of metal.

Milliseconds later, a sniper rifle roared, followed in rapid succession by a second, spitting their projectiles at their targets. The one aimed for Reinhardt missed by centimeters, passing so close that he could feel the wind of its passage before it buried itself in the opposite wall with a puff of powdered concrete.

However, the second target was not so lucky. Startled by her shout, followed by the loud report of the first high-powered sniper rifle, Torbjörn jerked up from where he hunched over the computer screen. It was not a massive movement, but it was enough that the shot meant for his head missed its intended point of contact, instead passing straight through his chest near his right collarbone.

He shouted in pain and surprise, falling to the ground, temporarily out of sight of the two snipers.

Mercy cursed. It must be Talon: a relatively new, but surprisingly well-funded terrorist group that had recently begun making steadily larger moves to undermine Overwatch and destabilize the world order. They had spread propaganda, infiltrated agencies, and had even blown up multiple buildings, but until now, never had they gone so far as to attempt the assassination of two senior agents.

“Get behind me!” Reinhardt roared, rolling to his feet and deploying his barrier as Talon soldiers poured from the hallways and began to fire assault weapons in their direction. Immediately, the massive blue energy shield began to light up with the impacts of bullets.

Mercy needed to reach Torbjörn. He was wounded, but it seemed that her warning had succeeded in saving his life too, at least temporarily. But with how hazardous torso wounds could be, he would still need medical attention immediately.

Luckily, it seemed that the Talon soldiers had realized their mistake too late, waiting far too long to begin retreating before the massive, armored berserker that was closing rapidly on their formation. Reinhardt, too, had seen his best friend struck down, and they were going to _pay_ for that.

With a roar, he slammed his hammer into them, the force of every impact scattering their bodies like dolls before him. Some of them screamed as it crashed through their ranks, the massive, rocket-powered weapon shattering bones and tearing through their armor like tissue paper. Others were silent, killed instantly and swept aside under the massive blows.

Satisfied that Talon was otherwise occupied, Mercy rapidly glided to the fallen form of her friend. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw his slumped form, but as she knelt beside him, she could see his shoulders rising and falling with shuddering breaths, and she let out a massive sigh of relief.

She rolled him over, her fingers deftly finding his wound and using only the gentlest of touches to search for its extent. Despite this, Torbjörn let out a shout of pain as she probed, but she just grimaced in sympathy and continued to check, making sure to keep her fingers away from the openings themselves so as not to cause an infection.

_There’s the entrance… and there’s the exit. Good. The bullet isn’t still inside, and it doesn’t seem to have hit anything vital. Doesn’t seem to have fragmented either, so just a clean hole._

Breathing another sigh of relief, she quickly sterilized the wound before using her Caduceus staff to establish a link to him, watching as the nanorobots went to work. Slowly, skin and flesh began to regenerate, knitting themselves back together and sealing the wound. In barely a minute, the hole in Torbjörn’s chest had closed completely, the small pool of blood on the floor the only sign of it having ever existed at all.

Taking a step back from her work, she realized the cacophony of battle had continued outside and she had become so engrossed in saving her friend’s life that she had nearly forgotten their current predicament. She glanced up at Reinhardt, who had just cleaved through the final soldiers, before felling one of the snipers with a tongue of flame launched from his hammer. Then, all his enemies defeated, he finally came to a stop.

All around him, Talon agents lay scattered, littering the floor with their bodies, weapons, and spent ammunition. Lowering his weapon, Reinhardt leaned heavily against it, lifting his helmet to wipe some sweat from his brow as he let his breathing and heartrate return to normal.

Angela should have been mortified at all the death before her, but she could not find it in herself to be anything but relieved at the fact that it was finally over, and that Torbjörn was alive and recovering. She flashed Reinhardt a quick smile to let him know of her success and watched as his shoulders gave up what tension remained in them, relieved at the news of his friend’s improving condition.

Glancing back to Torbjörn, she was pleased to see his eyes already open, awake and lucid. He gave her a brief smile when she came into view, which she returned, but before she could say anything, his eyes slid from her face, widening as they settled on a point above her right shoulder.

She whipped around, and realized she was staring down the barrel of a rifle.

_The other sniper._

Mercy cursed herself for being so careless. Now she was alone and unarmed, staring death in the face, while Reinhardt was too far to do anything about it, assuming he could even see the danger from his position.

As the sniper’s finger tightened on the trigger, she moved purely from instinct, her natural self-preservation kicking in as she lunged rapidly, crouching quickly to keep herself out of the rifle’s sights. She heard it go off above her head, deafeningly loudly at such close range, and she leapt up, knocking the rifle aside as she ran into him, slamming him to the ground. His weapon skittered away, and she drew her pistol on him before he had a chance to recover.

But almost as quickly, he was back on his feet, glaring at her furiously, his gaze made even more intense by his metal helmet and its red-tinted eyepieces. This woman was the reason his mission was a failure. She was the reason his team lay scattered on the ground outside, rather than victoriously completing two clean kills on two of Overwatch’s most senior members.

He growled in anger, pulling a knife from his belt as he leapt toward Mercy, and without thinking, she pulled the trigger. Two pulse rounds seared into the man’s forehead, and he dropped instantly, dead before he hit the floor.

She stood, stunned for a few moments before the pistol fell from her numb fingers.

_First, do no harm._

Her eyes stung, the world spinning around her as she realized what she had done. She had killed someone. She had actually taken someone’s life.

_Some doctor._

_You act all high and mighty, but you’re just like everyone else. Look how long your ethics last when it’s you that’s in danger._

She was suddenly acutely aware of the stench of burning flesh, and she dropped to her knees, tears coming to her eyes as her conscience continued to berate her.

_You could have disarmed him. You could have let him live._

_Murderer._

It was there that Reinhardt found her, silently crying over the body of someone who probably would have killed her and her friends without a second thought. But regardless of his occupation, that had been a living, thinking person, and how was she ever going to live knowing that she had ended that?

Reinhardt wrapped his massive arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug. “Shh, it’s alright,” he said soothingly. “It’s over now.”

“I killed him,” she replied, her voice trembling with guilt.

“Yes. But he would have killed you,” he said calmly, hoping that she would see his logic.

“I know, but I’m a _doctor_. Not a soldier,” she continued. “I act like we can _stop_ violence because we can always talk things out. I act like people should know better than to kill each other because no one is completely evil. But I’m just a fucking hypocrite.”

Reinhardt paused for a moment, realizing how deeply Mercy’s conscience was troubling her, then he simply tightened his comforting embrace. “Thank you for saving my friend,” he said.

“What?” she replied as she pulled back from the hug, confused at the change of topic. Then, she waved her hand, pushing away the praise. “I don’t deserve thanks. That’s what I’m supposed to do: take bullets out of people, not go around _putting_ them in people.”

“Well, yes. Thank you for healing him too, but I meant for saving him from that guy,” he elaborated, gesturing in the direction of the dead sniper. “If you hadn’t stopped him, he would have finished the job he came here to do. You saved Torbjörn’s life twice today. And that’s not to mention mine. So, thank you, Mercy, for saving our lives.”

It did make her feel a lot better to think about it like that, but it still felt like just an excuse for murder, and she still felt herself on the verge of tears. However, determined not to let Reinhardt think his attempt to raise her spirits had gone unappreciated, she gave him a flimsy smile, her eyes watery.

“Does it get any easier?” she asked.

Reinhardt thought about it for a moment before he replied as truthfully as he could. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I think I’m a bad example. I lived through the Omnic Crisis, so fighting became a part of my life. For me, it’s usually a thrill: the adrenaline, the danger, the glory. But some days, I can’t help but end up remembering my enemies’ faces, or at least the ones that I could see,” he finished sadly.

Mercy glanced over at the sniper, suddenly even more thankful that she could not see his face since it was covered by his helmet, otherwise it would be even harder to forgive herself for today.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” Reinhardt said, lifting Torbjörn over his shoulder and ignoring the cries of protest and threats of bodily harm coming from the shorter man. Mercy simply nodded in affirmation, before she followed quietly.

 _‘Killer,’_ her brain unhelpfully supplied once again as they slowly, but steadily made their way back to the transport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had actually originally planned for this to be a sort of training chapter, where Angela learns how to fight and stuff like that, but I didn't like how it was turning out and I didn't want to bore anyone, so instead there was a time skip of a few months to where Mercy experiences a battle for the first time... I hope you all liked it :) I've never really written any scenes like this before, so please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Translations (hopefully they should be relatively clear from context and I'm pretty sure I've used them all before, but just to be sure):  
> Chérie - Dear  
> Ça va - Literally, "that goes," but it's often used as "alright" or "sounds good"  
> Oui - Yes


	4. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! Sorry about the shorter update, I've had a really busy week and it was a tad rough getting this out (sort of) on time. I know it isn't the best chapter, but we could all probably use a slightly more lighthearted chapter, considering how heavy they've been recently :)

The return flight felt even longer than the first. Try as she might to remind herself of Reinhardt’s words, that Torbjörn would not be alive if it were not for her, the acidic voice of her conscience still berated her at every opportunity. What he had said made sense: she had taken someone’s life to save another, so it excused her actions. But it felt like exactly that: an excuse.

But after an unknown amount of time flying in silence, at last the transport rounded a final snow-capped peak, and the soaring concrete structures of the Overwatch Headquarters came into view.

Angela felt herself breathe a small sigh of relief. They were home.

The transport came in for a landing, its wheels touching gently down on the runway as the hangar doors opened before them. And before she knew it, the aircraft had come to a complete stop, its engines spooling slowly down.

The agents were up and out of their seats immediately, collecting gear and congratulating each other on a job well done, even though the results were rather far from what they had hoped. They had not found a warehouse struggling with communication difficulties, or even one that had been robbed by some unnamed bandits. Instead, they found that Talon was getting bolder, and that they wanted Reinhardt and Torbjörn dead.

It was still unclear why they were specifically targeted, or even how Talon could have known they would be assigned to this relief mission. Was it just a random attack, and they raided the warehouse merely hoping that high-ranking agents might be sent? That seemed unlikely. Or was it the more worrying option: that they somehow knew Reinhardt and Torbjörn had been assigned to accompany Mercy on the very next mission that cropped up, so they planned to attack them specifically?

But that would mean that Talon had an informant somewhere in Overwatch. And that was an even more frightening concept.

Regardless of the implications of their mission, they still needed to report, so the three agents, still equipped in most of their field gear, headed to Commander Morrison’s office for debriefing.

Outside, Captain Ana Amari seemed to be waiting for the commander as well, leafing through a stack of paperwork in her hands.

“Captain,” Angela acknowledged, giving her commanding officer a small salute.

“Doctor Ziegler!” the older woman replied, her lips rapidly forming a wide and inviting smile that made her eyes twinkle. “How was the mission?”

Angela hesitated, looking uncertainly at the two men at her side. “Shouldn’t one of you report? I’m just a junior agent…” she trailed off.

Ana waved her hand in dismissal, still smiling invitingly. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll be having a conversation with Reinhardt later,” she replied, fixing her gaze for a long moment on the large German man, and the doctor could have sworn he blushed slightly under her pointed look. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned her gaze back to Angela, “I want to hear how _you_ felt about it. As you said, you’re a junior agent, so your take could be rather different.”

Reassured, the doctor flashed a smile of her own at Ana before beginning. “It was a Talon ambush. It seemed that they were out to kill Reinhardt and Torbjörn, but they failed.”

Reinhardt shook his head and clapped a massive hand down on Angela’s shoulder. “She is too modest! She fought honorably and rescued the lives of her comrades. It was a performance to be proud of!”

And she did feel proud that her teammates felt that they could trust her, but still, she could not help but grimace slightly at the memory. “It was… it was a lot more… disturbing than I had hoped,” she said.

She didn’t give more explanation than that, but Ana seemed to understand the source of her concern, so she pulled Angela into a hug. “I’m sorry. Killing is never easy. Sometimes, you just have to hope you won’t have to. And do your best to keep your team safe.”

Despite her misgivings, Angela felt a smile work its way onto her face. Ana gave the _best_ hugs. Well, second best. Winston had an unfair advantage.

When she broke away, the doctor had to wipe tears from her eyes. But for the first time in ages, they were not of sadness or guilt or loneliness. But of finally being surrounded by people that cared about her and that she could trust. Feeling that she belonged.

“Now,” Ana said, with only the slightest glint of mischief in her eyes as she took Reinhardt’s armored hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I will be meeting in private with Reinhardt. I’m glad he’s safe, but he should know not to worry me like that.”

With that, she led him from the room, leaving both Angela and Torbjörn staring at each other in silent confusion. Torbjörn lifted his shoulders in a shrug and had just opened his mouth to say something when a resounding crash came from within Commander Morrison’s office.

Through the door came the muffled voice of the Overwatch Commander: “Goddammit, Reyes!”

It was shortly followed by the deeper, gravelly voice of the Blackwatch Commander: “Fuck off, Morrison! You know I’m right!” which was quickly followed in turn by more scuffling and the sound of a body, maybe two, hitting the floor.

Angela rolled her eyes.

_Typical._

As she had the thought, Torbjörn chuckled, clearly having seen her eyeroll. “You’ve got that right, Doctor.”

Angela let out a little giggle. “I suppose we don’t have to wonder what’s occupying them anymore.”

The normally stern engineer gave another snort. “That’s an understatement. I wonder how long this one will last.”

“It depends whether or not they’ll have to _forgive_ each other afterwards.” Angela replied.

“True,” he chuckled, before their room lapsed once again into silence, the only sound being the odd muffled thud or curse coming from the locked door. After several minutes of silence, Torbjörn finally broke it once again, his voice hesitant.

“Listen, Doctor, I’ve been meaning to say this the whole flight back, but I wasn’t really sure how. I figured I’d just come out and go for it…” he pulled in a deep breath. “Thanks. For patching me up back there. I know I’m not the friendliest guy. Shit, just look at how long it took me to get myself to say thank you. I just wanted to let you know, I didn’t think you had what it took at first, but you really proved me wrong.” He paused, his face getting as close as it ever got to a smirk. “And it’s been quite a while since that’s happened. I just wanted to let you know that you’re good in my book.”

Angela smiled, surprised, but pleased that the engineer had come to trust her in the field so quickly. “Thank you,” she replied, “We make a great team, the three of us.”

“That we do,” Torbjörn agreed, and the two drifted into silence once more, waiting for another several minutes before the door to Commander Morrison’s office burst open and Commander Reyes stumbled out, a hand pressed against what was likely to become a black eye.

Jack Morrison’s voice followed him out, yelling, “You fucking suck, Reyes!”

To which Gabriel Reyes responded with a smirk, “Yeah, and you fucking swallow, bitch!”

Only then, did he notice the other two people in the room, who were both very obviously trying not to look at him, pretending they had not just heard the last several minutes of their violent banter. And both were making a valiant effort to hold in their laughter, managing to keep the smiles off their faces until Reyes addressed them. “Well,” he said, straightening his clothes, “Dumbass is all yours.” And then he was gone, leaving as quickly as he had first appeared.

Angela and Torbjörn shared a look, still working desperately to contain the laughter that was threatening to escape. It took several minutes, but they eventually managed to smother any hint of a smile and head inside Morrison’s office.

Inside, it was a mess. A complete, unmitigated disaster. Chairs and lamps were knocked over, papers scattered across the floor, and a bruised, but surprisingly relaxed-looking grey-haired man sitting behind his disheveled desk.

_Wow, these two need some kind of counseling. This can’t be healthy._

“Ah, Angela. Torbjörn. Thank you for stopping by,” Morrison said, running a hand through his hair, trying to make it look less like a bird had been nesting there for the past several months. “I was just conducting some… ah… negotiations… with the Blackwatch division.”

Torbjörn raised an eyebrow, remaining impassive. “Seems that things got a bit heated.”

“Yes,” the commander replied, scratching the back of his neck. “They did. Anyway, your report, Agent Lindholm?”

“A Talon assassination mission, seemingly directed at both Reinhardt and myself, designed to lure us both into the false sense of security of a simple initiation mission with a new agent.”

“Talon? Huh, they really are growing. Any casualties?” Commander Morrison replied, having obviously noticed the suspicious absence of the massive Crusader.

“One wounded. I was hit by one of their snipers, but Mercy patched me up.”

“I see. And your analysis of her overall performance?”

“Exemplary. She was the reason we even survived at all. Her reactions to unpredictable situations were excellent and her instincts were correct. I recommend she be removed from her probationary period and fully instated as an agent. God knows we could use more combat medics around now,” Torbjörn responded, favoring the doctor with one of his rare smiles.

“Very well,” the commander replied, rummaging through the overturned file cabinet until he found the forms he needed. He quickly filled them out, signed them, and handed one copy of each to Angela as he read from one of them, taking on a more formal tone. “Congratulations, Angela Ziegler, Head of Medical Research. Welcome to the Overwatch Task Force. You are hereby fully instated with the additional position and title of agent, codename ‘Mercy,’ effective immediately.”

She took the papers from him with a quiet thank you, staring at them as she ran her finger over the Overwatch Insignia she had been given.

At that moment, she felt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Ana makes a small appearance! I'm not totally sure yet how much she will continue to show up in this, but I thought I should definitely try to include her at least once!
> 
> Also, yes, Morrison and Reyes have a pretty dysfunctional relationship. Considering the way they act around each other, it seemed reasonable.
> 
> As always, any comments or kudos are much appreciated! I love knowing what everyone is thinking of the story so far!


	5. Château Guillard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: this chapter contains mentions of the aftermath of violence. Like the last time, it isn't particularly gruesome, but be warned, there is blood and heavily implied violence toward a main character (I'm very sorry)

“Athena, call Amélie,” Angela sighed, flopping back on her bed. She couldn’t wait to tell Amélie about her day. She had already technically been an agent, but now that Commander Morrison had officially ended her probationary period, her friend would be dying to hear about it.

“Calling Amélie Lacroix…” the AI system replied.

The doctor could hardly believe it. The past few months had been difficult, but things finally seemed to be looking up in her life.

But after nearly a minute, a voice cut back into her thoughts. Expecting to hear the dulcet tones of her best friend’s voice, Angela was surprised to hear the AI speak again. “Amélie Lacroix is not available at this time,” Athena said.

Angela’s forehead scrunched in confusion, her brain immediately beginning to search for the possible reasons for Amélie’s absence. That information was odd, to say the least: Amélie was almost _always_ home at this time of the night.

_Maybe she has a ballet recital tonight? No, she probably would’ve told me about it last week. She’s always so excited about those._

_A night out with her husband? Probably not, because he was definitely on base barely a few hours ago. He spoke to me at dinner._

_What else could it be?_

A little concerned, Angela asked Athena another question. “Do you know where she is?”

Immediately, the AI responded. “GPS tracking indicates the phone registered to Amélie Lacroix is currently at her residence.”

“Can you call again?” she requested, hoping that her friend had simply missed the call. But when Athena returned with yet another negative response, she felt herself becoming worried for her friend’s safety.

_Could she be asleep already?_

She checked the time. 21:07. No, probably not asleep.

_Could she have fallen and hurt herself?_

With the agility and grace her friend possessed, it seemed unlikely, but anything was possible. Already, the doctor in Angela was speculating, trying to determine how urgent medical attention would be for every injury her friend might have received.

_Maybe she tripped and broke her leg falling down the stairs? Or maybe she cut herself? Or she got sick?_

“Athena, call Gérard,” Angela said promptly, standing abruptly as the possibilities her mind created made her progressively more restless.

“Calling Gérard Lacroix…”

After several seconds, the line connected, and the voice of her friend’s husband could be heard over the speakers in the doctor’s bedroom. “Bonsoir, Angela, how are you?” he greeted, his heavy French accent punctuating the words.

“Hello, Gérard. I’m feeling alright, but I was wondering, where is Amélie? I tried to call her, but she didn’t respond even though her phone is at her house. I’m concerned for her,” Angela replied, hoping she didn’t sound too paranoid. She had a bad feeling about this, and she really didn’t want him to think she was overreacting.

But Gérard seemed to share her concern, his voice taking on a note of trepidation. “I called her earlier today and she didn’t respond then either… I was going to call her back later tonight… I thought she might just be busy, but if she still isn’t answering, could she be hurt?” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “I’ll call our butler, see if he knows anything of where she is.”

With that, he hung up, leaving Angela alone with her thoughts, pacing the room. The longer Gérard took to respond, the more worried she became.

Eventually, he called her back, his voice anxious. “I called our butler and all the other staff at the château. Not one of them responded. I’m… I’m going there to check. Something is wrong. Badly wrong.”

Angela’s stomach dropped like a stone. Before she even knew it, she was throwing on her discarded uniform, racing to get ready and head for the door. “I’ll come with you. If she’s in trouble, I owe it to her to help however I can. She’s helped me so much, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

With that, she hurriedly swept her jacket off the hangar and turned off the lights to her room.

“Athena, end call.”

* * *

The trip to Annecy was tense, but short. Despite the late hour, Gérard’s position as head of Overwatch’s anti-terrorism department had enabled him to rapidly secure transport on one of the organization’s fastest transport aircraft, and they had taken off almost immediately, racing towards Amélie’s home in an apprehensive silence.

Regardless of Annecy’s position close to the Swiss border making the flight extremely brief, it felt as if it took hours, the agents’ mutual concern for Amélie stretching time and distance before them, until it became almost unbearable.

 _Why weren’t_ any _of them responding?_

Moments after the transport set them down at a nearby landing site, the two agents had boarded one of Overwatch’s official vehicles, proceeding to race through the French countryside toward Château Guillard at a rate that left Angela’s stomach back at the airport. And after barely another twenty minutes, which were thankfully free of any police that would have demanded an explanation for their breakneck pace, they finally crested the hill before the château, and it came into view.

Despite the situation, Angela could not help the feeling of awe that always accompanied that first glimpse of the vast stone structure. It was a truly beautiful building, with its stone spires and ornate windows bathed in moonlight, and it was made even more so by the lake that surrounded it, giving the entire place a striking, medieval grandeur that was unmatched by anywhere else Angela had ever been.

But tonight, the building’s splendor was significantly damped by its apparent emptiness. Not one window was illuminated, not one sound to be heard as the heavy wooden front door hung slightly open in the still air.

Gérard slammed the vehicle to a stop, leaping out instantly, his heavy boots thumping on the cobbled street as he shouted anxiously. “Amélie! Amélie, où est-ce que vous êtes allée, chérie?!” But the only response was the sound of his pacing footsteps and the faint crackling sound of the vehicle as its engine cooled. “Pierre? Fleur? Marie?” he called, voice quivering as tears threatening to burst from his eyes. “Est-ce que vous êtes ici?”

An eerie silence greeted them, and the building remained as quiet as ever, its grim façade appearing increasingly uninviting as it leered down at them. Reaching back into the car, Gérard retrieved a small handgun and tucked it into an inner pocket of his suit, his face a mask. He gestured for Angela to remain in the car, but the blonde woman was already out, shaking her head as she donned her wings.

“I’m coming with you. If she’s in danger, I’m going to help,” she insisted, not leaving any room for debate.

Gérard briefly looked like he wanted to protest, but his desire for swiftness rapidly took precedence, so he nodded in acknowledgement, not seeming to trust his voice with a reply under the circumstances.

Angela walked quickly to the door, but stopped just as rapidly when she came close enough that its state became visible. The door had not simply been left open. Its heavy wooden frame was shattered near the latch, the sturdy material having given way under some tremendous impact.

“The door’s been forced,” she whispered to Gérard, trying not to let her own growing hopelessness show.

Pushing past her, he wordlessly touched his finger to the fractured wood, clearly thinking the same thing Angela was. As desperate as he was for some sign of his wife, they needed to be careful. If whoever did this was still here, it would be nearly suicidal to charge in without thinking.

The doctor followed closely behind, sliding through the gap and glancing around the spooky, dimly lit entranceway, a few specks of dust hanging in the beams of moonlight that found their way into the building.

It did not take them long to find the first body. It was Pierre, the Lacroix family’s butler. Angela remembered him from some of her previous visits. He was a kindly, elderly man with wispy, thin hair on the sides of his head and a pair of thick spectacles. Still dressed in his tuxedo, he was lying faceup in a pool of dried blood that had leaked from multiple stab wounds in his torso. A fly or two that had made it inside the building buzzed around the corpse.

Gérard looked to Angela. “Are you… are you okay?” he stuttered, trying to hide the tears that threatened to force their way down his cheeks.

Seeing his reaction, she knew he was only asking as a courtesy. This was obviously far worse for him than it was for her. Although she was staggered, with every basic instinct going directly counter to the cruelty that had occurred here, she barely knew Pierre and as a surgeon, she frequently dealt with far more gruesome scenes than this. It was the potential ramifications for Amélie that made her throat feel like it was closing in on itself. Gérard, however, had just lost one of his longtime friends, with an unknown, but likely similar fate, having befallen his wife.

She quickly crouched down beside the corpse, checking his pulse on the unlikely possibility that he could somehow still be alive. It was as she expected. He was dead, and the body had already cooled and begun to stiffen.

“He’s been dead a long time,” Angela whispered, standing again.

Gérard grimaced, his grip on his handgun tightening. “Let’s find Amélie,” he said, gritting his teeth and preparing for the worst.

And so they did, making their way through the seemingly endless rooms of the château, pausing briefly at each corpse they found, and steadily feeling their last hints of hope beginning to die away. Angela didn’t think she could bear to see Amélie’s body, bloody and lifeless, sprawled across her bedroom floor. It was still too soon after Lena’s death, and now not one, but two of her best friends had met an early end. Angela didn’t think she could handle it.

Finally, they stood outside the last room in the house: Amélie’s room. The room Gérard had saved for last because he could not bear to check it.

Tears in his eyes, he took a deep breath, and opened the door.

What lay before them was almost worse than a body. The room was completely unoccupied, the heavy drapes moving slightly as a faint breath of a breeze made its way through the open window. And the place was a mess. Furniture was upturned, vases were shattered, and papers were flung indiscriminately across the floor. In the center of the room, the bedsheets were strewn over the ground, as if their occupant had been dragged from the bed, fighting and struggling the entire way.

Gérard let out a choked sob as the evidence of the previous day’s events sunk in.

Angela felt the walls close in around her when she spotted the only two pieces of evidence left behind by her friend’s attackers. On the corner of the bed, there was a single white towel, still possessing the faintest scent of chloroform. And underneath the bed, there was a knife; presumably kicked there in the scuffle.

But when she retrieved it, the symbol on the knife made Angela’s heart clench yet again, tears pouring down her face as she saw the stylized red ‘T’ inscribed on the handle.

Amélie had been taken by Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this had to happen to poor Amélie! I was getting really attached to her character, and I know a lot of you probably were too :( But I did start this story with the intention of being as canon-compliant as possible, and this was a pretty important event in the outline I have planned out, so I just wanted to say I'm sorry again! I guess if this didn't hit you in the feels, I probably haven't done my job correctly...
> 
> Also, the French in this chapter, and all the previous ones, is mostly taken from what I remember learning in high school. If any of it is wrong, or if the translations aren't correct, please let me know!
> 
> So I'd love to know what you all thought! Any comments or kudos you might have are super appreciated! Seriously, thank you all for the support on this story, it really means a lot to me :) Until the next time!
> 
> Translations:  
> Bonsoir - Good evening  
> Amélie, où est-ce que vous êtes allée, chérie? - Amélie, where have you gone, dear?  
> Est-ce que vous êtes ici? - Are you here?


	6. Mistakes (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! This chapter was actually pretty difficult for me to write, so I'm sorry I wasn't able to get it out by my normal upload day! I really hope you all like it though :)
> 
> Warning: the following chapter contains a sex scene. If this isn't your thing, please don't read any farther than where they Angela and Fareeha kiss. There will be a summary of anything important at the beginning of the next chapter, so you won't be missing anything

Angela had made better decisions than this one. She knew that.

She was the inventor of a whole new field of medicine and the pilot of the experimental Valkyrie suit.

Her successes were making her famous, and she was becoming a surprisingly well-known face for the largest peacekeeping organization in the world, even beginning to appear in many of the publicity photographs alongside some of its more senior members.

She made good decisions every day. Ones that saved people’s lives at the last possible instant. Or ones that replaced a limb with a prosthetic, cured some disease, or otherwise made those lives incalculably better.

But going to some dingy bar in downtown Cairo in an attempt to forget how yet another lead managed to turn up absolutely nothing? That was not one of them.

But it was one she made regardless.

It had been months since Amélie Lacroix was taken from her home, taken from her family and friends by one of the largest and most influential terrorist organizations the world had ever seen.

It had been months since Angela had seen Gérard without the lines of worry that seemed to have taken up permanent occupation on his face, his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he scoured yet another inconclusive source for even the tiniest fragments of information on his wife’s whereabouts.

It had been months since either of them had gotten a full night’s rest, kept awake by guilt and worry for the woman that meant so much to them.

It had been months since Angela had really smiled.

After Amélie’s abduction, the ghosts had only gotten worse. The cute brunette with an adorable smirk and a heart of pure gold, disappearing in the flaming wreck of an airplane. Angela’s mother and father telling her that they loved her, the morning before she came back from school to find they were killed by Omnic terrorists. All those wounded soldiers on her operating table, choking out their last words to their husbands, wives, parents, or children before succumbing to their injuries. Even the multiple Talon operatives she had needed to kill in the line of duty, every one of their faces forever etched into her mind as she was forced to end their lives.

Every one of them had needed her help. Whether it was an improved medical operation or just a second chance at life, she could have saved them. But she hadn’t, so their deaths just played on repeat in her mind, over and over, just to remind her of how badly she had failed them.

And now, there was yet another ghost.

Amélie Lacroix. Her best friend. The woman that had kept Angela from buckling under the strain time and time again throughout their long friendship.

She had supported Dr. Ziegler so much, but when she herself had needed it most, Angela was not there for her.

What kind of friend could she call herself?

It would almost be better if Amélie _had_ been killed. Then, at least, there would be some form of certainty. But not knowing if, at any given moment, Amélie might be in the midst of some brutal interrogation? One that they were doing nothing to prevent? That hurt even more.

And she could tell that Gérard was hurting just as badly as she was. The man was beside himself with worry, spending days at a time locked in his room, scrutinizing Overwatch’s most obscure leads on Talon and with barely a break to eat.

He was becoming gaunt, the dark circles under his eyes forming a stark contrast against his increasingly pale, thinning face. But as much as his friends tried to encourage him to take care of himself, he would just shake his head, saying that Amélie needed their help more than he did.

But as bad as it was now, it had been far worse in the days immediately following Amélie’s capture:

_She stood up from her desk, hearing shouting from the hall, but unable to make out what was being said, until the door opened. Two agents were dragging G_ _érard into the medical bay, their hands locked on his arms as he fought and struggled against their grip. “Laissez-moi!” he shouted, his voice breaking with emotion and exhaustion. “Je n’ai pas besoin de dormir! J’ai besoin de chercher ma femme!”_

_He resisted as hard as he could, attempting to thrash himself free, but it was a wasted effort. The dark circles under his eyes belied his fatigue, and his movements weak and uncoordinated. Unable to find the strength to continue, his motions stopped and he sagged in their grip, making it apparent that the guards were probably more to keep him from collapsing than to prevent his escape. “Doctor,” one of the agents said in greeting. “Commander Morrison demanded that we bring Agent Lacroix to the medical bay for a sedative. He hasn’t been sleeping, and he’s becoming increasingly irritable and aggressive.”_

_“I don’t need a fucking sedative,” G_ _érard growled angrily, switching to English. “I need to find where they took my wife. They might be torturing her, or God knows what. I can’t just lay down and take a fucking nap!”_

_As he spoke, the door opened again, admitting Commander Morrison to the medical bay. He grimaced, and when the agent had finished speaking, he could not help but burst into a furious shout, “That’s why you need some sleep, idiot! I just watched you read the same page of intel four times in a row before asking someone to sum it up for you! You’ve had barely an hour of sleep in the last three days!”_

_G_ _érard simply crossed his arms, looking stubborn. “The more time I waste, the more time they have to hurt my beautiful Am_ _élie.”_

_“Enough! You’re wasting your own time by keeping yourself in… this… state of mind! You aren’t achieving anything, and I need you back on duty eventually, Lacroix. Doctor, if he doesn’t go to sleep in the next 15 minutes, sedate him.”_

_The man opened his mouth to protest, but Morrison had already stormed from the office._

And while she did have to sedate him several more times in the days and weeks that followed, Gérard did eventually manage to start finding sleep on his own, even if it was far less than what he needed.

She wasn’t getting much sleep either, and she spent much of her time smothering herself in work, taking on any and every little project in the hopes of keeping her brain busy with something other than negative thoughts.

But sometimes, when the temptation to drown her sorrows in hard liquor became too great, she found herself staring at the bottom of a bottle, desperately hoping that it would eventually put her into a barely-restful, but much-needed sleep.

Like tonight.

The result of the day’s mission had been nearly the same as so many others before it. After digging up some lead on a Talon base or safehouse, Angela and Gérard had immediately turned to their commanders for support in a strike, which they were begrudgingly provided after some persuasion. At first, since each base they cleared was a significant advantage in the fight against Talon, it had not been too hard to secure funding for their missions, but as each new strike turned up less and less new information for Overwatch, the leadership were reaching the limits of their generosity.

She understood. She really did. They couldn’t continue funding something that had so far been fruitless, and the Director was starting to ask questions. Commander Morrison had made it clear that this was essentially their final chance to turn up some kind of hint, and they had blown it, finding nothing but old paperwork and even older information.

It made her want to cry.

Of course, it would help if they knew _why_ Talon had taken Amélie. Using her for a ransom or as a bargaining chip made the most sense, but it had been such a long time that that explanation was seeming less and less likely. And after today’s failure, both she and Gérard were losing their last vestiges of hope that they might ever see her again.

She swallowed a little more of the harsh liquid. It burned her throat, and the flavor was only barely passable, but that was to be expected from the cheap swill she had ordered. She wished the other members of the strike team had joined her, even for just a little while, but they were all back at the hotel, resting before the trip back to headquarters in the morning, so she had headed to the bar alone.

It might not have been her best decision, but she wasn’t an _idiot._

She knew she would be a single, drunk woman, wandering the streets of an unknown city in the middle of the night, so she had obviously triple checked with the bartender, a kindly old man with an endearing smile, that the area was, in fact, safe. And he had assured her that not only would he keep an eye on her, but this was one of the safest regions of the city, being frequented by police and military alike.

He was evidently correct, because many of the patrons did not even look up when a group of soldiers walked in. Presumably, their shift had just ended, and they were clearly rather happy about it.

Laughing and joking among themselves, three of them made themselves comfortable at a table in the back, while the remaining two bought them all drinks. They returned to a chorus of hearty pats on the back and what seemed to be good-natured insults, to which they responded with laughs and several choice insults of their own.

Angela spared them a glance as they bantered, feeling lonely as she reminisced about her own friends. Not only were Lena and Amélie gone, but the others, like Genji and McCree, had been seeming more and more distant lately. Even Winston was seeming rather withdrawn, his normally cheerful attitude damped significantly by recent events.

In a way, the group of soldiers looked rather familiar. The way they joked and laughed, even the face of the woman opposite her brought back all sorts of memories.

_Wait a second._

She had to glance again. That woman did not just look familiar… Angela _knew_ that face, even though she could not place it.

But how could that be possible? How could she recognize some random sergeant in the Egyptian army that just happened to walk into the same bar as she did? What were the chances?

Maybe her eyes really were just playing tricks on her. The mystery woman was hardly the kind of person one could simply forget, after all. She was tall and buff, carrying herself with an air of quiet confidence that invariably commanded respect from those around her.

Her mind still spinning at the unexpected familiarity, Angela turned back to her drink, but it seemed that one of the soldiers had caught her looking. She had already looked away, but it was too late, and he had begun talking to his friends, glancing periodically in her direction as he spoke quickly in a hushed tone.

Angela tried not to groan aloud, knowing that any moment, some arrogant guy would probably be trying to pick her up, just because he had seen her looking and wanted to try his luck. She _really_ was not in the mood for the same old song and dance, explaining to yet another would-be suitor that, ‘No, I really could not be less interested. I prefer girls, so you were wasting your time by coming here. Thank you and goodbye,’ or something of the sort.

So when a shadow fell on her, she was already turning around, an irritated rejection already forming on her lips when she froze at the sight of the person that had approached her.

“Dr. Ziegler? Is that you?” came the voice of the woman, and suddenly, Angela realized where she had seen that face before.

_Oh my god. Is that Fareeha?_

It was. The hardened, well-muscled soldier at the table before her was a far cry from the lanky teenager that she had met when she first joined Overwatch, but it was definitely Fareeha Amari. Back then, the teenaged version of her was always tripping over Angela’s heels, following her and Jesse everywhere and getting into all sorts of trouble. Of course, try as Fareeha might to hide her escapades from her mother, Ana always found out, giving both her and Angela a thorough chastising.

It hadn’t felt fair: Angela usually at least _tried_ to be a good influence, unlike McCree, who always seemed more than comfortable in his role of the mischievous uncle, but Ana often seemed to place a great deal of the blame on Angela regardless. All because “you’re supposed to set a good example” and “my daughter looks up to you.” Ana _still_ hadn’t forgiven her for when Jesse took Fareeha drinking on her sixteenth birthday, even though Angela hadn’t even been on the base when it happened.

But despite the trouble she sometimes made for Angela, Fareeha and Jesse had been two of the brightest spots in Angela’s early days at Overwatch, and she still looked back on those memories fondly.

The three had been close friends, and they spent much of their free time together. But one day, Fareeha had come back from her mother’s office in a huff, and simply packed her things and left, leaving her two closest friends without much explanation besides an angrily mumbled ‘She wants to control my life.’

Neither she nor McCree had seen Fareeha since.

_What are the chances she’d be here?_

“Fareeha?” the doctor replied, her melancholy mood put temporarily on hold by her surprise.

“Oh my god,” Fareeha replied. “It’s been too long.”

Angela merely nodded, still staring at the woman before her.

_Maybe this is all just a really weird dream. Or maybe I’m finally going crazy._

She wasn’t sure who initiated it, but both women suddenly pulled each other into a hug. It really had been too long since they had seen each other.

Fareeha pulled back, her eyes misty as they met Angela’s, and she gently tucked a blond curl behind the doctor’s ear with her free hand. “Dr. Ziegler, how can you be here? When my squad mate said the woman sitting at the bar looked like Mercy from Overwatch, I thought he was just joking but…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely in Angela’s direction to wordlessly imply, ‘but here you are.’

The blond woman felt herself chuckling quietly, sparing him a quick mental apology for her premature assessment of his intentions as she smiled at the taller woman, offering her a seat.

“My team had a mission here,” she replied, taking another swallow of her beverage. “We’re spending the night before heading back to base.”

Fareeha nodded in understanding, then continued, “I was really impressed when I’d heard. I wasn’t expecting you to become a famous agent.” Then, she rushed to clarify, “Not that I thought you _couldn’t_ do it, of course, I just didn’t think that was something you would want.”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” she said with another chuckle. It had always been endearing, how Fareeha could be so cool and confident for one moment, then blushing and stumbling over her words the next. “I suppose I just changed my mind. I realized if I help people in the field, I can save far more lives than I could locked in the medical bay.”

Fareeha nodded in agreement, then flashed Angela a smile. “That sounds a lot like the Dr. Ziegler I knew.”

The doctor shook her head, her face breaking into a small smirk, “Come on, Fareeha, still calling me Dr. Ziegler after all these years? Please, call me Angela. We know each other well enough,” she said.

Fareeha blushed again, letting out a slightly nervous chuckle before replying. “Alright, Angela.”

“So, what brings you here, Fareeha?” the doctor continued, giving her old friend a welcoming smile. “What happened to you after all this time? I never saw you again after that day.”

The other woman’s mood darkened slightly. “My mom was trying to control my life. You know I wanted nothing more than to join Overwatch, but she was set on making sure that would never happen. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I applied somewhere she had no say over whether I would get accepted or not,” she said with a scowl.

“I understand, but… why didn’t you say anything to your friends? Me? Or Jesse?” Angela demanded. “I would have liked to have known what happened to you.”

“I was afraid my mom would find out. She just would have dragged me back. Made me become a lawyer or a doctor or something,” she paused, then realizing what she had said, hurried to clarify, muttering “No offense.”

Angela chuckled. “None taken. As much as you loved hanging around the medical bay, I knew you would never have wanted to become a doctor.”

“You knew me too well,” Fareeha replied with a grin. “But it’s been so long, we should definitely catch up. I’m not really the same girl you used to know.”

“Oh really?” Angela replied with another smirk. “Do continue.”

It was surprising, really, how easily they fell into their old banter. It was nice. Familiar, even. And it was certainly helping Angela’s mood. It felt so nice to be appreciated again. To have someone to talk to that was genuinely interested in her.

But while coming to the bar was definitely a mistake, what she did next was far worse.

It was obvious that seeing each other again had reawakened the little babysitter crush that Fareeha had had on her, and Angela really should have stopped playing along the moment the other woman sat down. The other woman was clearly flirting, telling every endearingly terrible pun or joke that came to mind and flushing deeply whenever Angela responded with a little chuckle.

Angela knew she should not have brushed her fingers over Fareeha’s upper arm, her somewhat intoxicated mind relishing the feeling of contact with another person. She knew she should have said something when Fareeha ‘casually’ mentioned that she had never been with a woman before. She knew she should have politely turned her down when she suggested they head back to the hotel.

But she didn’t do any of that.

That was not to say that Angela disliked Fareeha, or even that she found her unattractive. Very much the opposite, in fact, and in another world, one where this bar was the first time they had met, she would absolutely consider a serious relationship with her. But Fareeha had been her friend, and it was proving difficult to shake the image of the fifteen-year-old that she had known so long ago. It made her feel seriously uncomfortable.

And Angela was really not in the best state to try anything right now. She was drunk and miserable, still recovering from both her best friend and girlfriend being taken from her in a matter of months. Her heart and mind were elsewhere, on other people, so she really should not do anything that she would regret.

But she was _so lonely_ …

The closest thing to social interaction that she had for the past several months was her talks with Gérard, and even those were about how to get Amélie back.

She craved closeness. She was so desperate for some form of intimacy with another person that she was probably mistaking feelings of friendship for attraction. So if this was the form it took, she was not planning to resist. She _didn’t want_ to resist.

And Fareeha _absolutely was_ attractive, her army training having brought out all the toned muscles and quiet strength that Angela could not help but admire. She was very much the ‘dashing adventurer type’ that the doctor found so sexy.

Still, she felt like she should ask again, just to be certain.

But Fareeha was having none of that, pressing her fingers to Angela’s lips and whispering, “It’s alright. No strings attached.”

Fareeha’s lips found hers. They were chapped and a bit rough, and Angela relaxed into their touch. It was so nice just to let go. To feel loved and cared for and happy, even just for a moment.

_Idiot. Way to make things complicated._

Her kiss was firm, her lips moving insistently against Angela’s. Her tongue demanded entry, so Angela obliged, letting the firm muscle enter her mouth.

Fareeha groaned, the hand on Angela’s waist pulling the blonde woman more tightly against her. As the doctor felt a palm reach her breast, her conscience made one last attempt to be heard.

_This is a mistake._

Fareeha pulled their hips together, their legs intertwining as Angela’s lips were smothered by an intense kiss. Angela felt that pleasingly distracting pressure begin to build between her legs, and the final echoes of protest disappeared in her mind.

She raised her thigh by the faintest margin, pressing it against the seam of Fareeha’s pants, feeling the taller woman gasp against her lips. Fareeha’s hips rocked against the insistent pressure, and she gasped again, beginning to slowly thrust her hips against the friction.

It didn’t take long before Angela was backing the other woman against the bed, a hand on her shoulder pushing her gently down to the sheets. Undressing was a similarly rapid process, with both women’s shirts and pants being cast to the floor in quick succession.

Fareeha’s eyes slipped briefly down Angela’s body as she positioned herself so that she was straddling her hips. Then, seemingly unsure of what to do next, she pulled the doctor’s head down to capture her lips once again.

Her hands rubbed up and down Angela’s sides as they kissed sloppily, stopping briefly at various points of interest before moving swiftly somewhere else, never staying in one place for very long. She left a light caress or two on Angela’s hips, before moving up to her stomach, down her arms, and onto her cheek.

Angela pulled back, trailing her fingers teasingly down Fareeha’s side before sitting up entirely, divesting herself of her own bra and panties along the way. Then, her arms were back around the other woman’s toned body, deftly undoing her bra and sending it to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Immediately, Angela’s mouth found a nipple, feeling it stiffen as her tongue worked gentle circles over it. Fareeha gasped beneath her, so she repeated her ministrations, gently sucking at the hard bud.

The other woman groaned, her fingers tangling in the doctor’s hair as her back arched, her chest pushing upwards against Angela’s mouth.

Angela smiled against Fareeha’s breast as she moved her hand to the other, making a quiet noise of appreciation as she massaged the soft mound. Fareeha really was an attractive woman. Everything, from the way she looked to the way she moved, even down to the way her chest rose and fell as she panted heavily, her hand tangling in locks of blonde hair as she pulled the other woman against her.

Trailing her lips downward, the blonde woman paused briefly at her friend’s taught stomach, enjoying the way the muscles tensed beneath them as she left a kiss or two on smooth skin before heading further down. Unfortunately, she had to break contact to slide Fareeha’s panties off and toss them aside, but she quickly returned to her previous position, pushing the other woman’s thighs slightly further apart so that she could nestle herself between them.

Without any further hesitation, Angela brought her lips to Fareeha’s sex, her tongue beginning to work slow circles over the soft flesh. Above her, the soldier moaned, her hips rocking forward to grind against the muscle that was steadily building the knot of arousal that had settled in her stomach.

Angela felt a little light-headed, but whether that was from arousal, intoxication, or a combination of both, she was not sure. But with Fareeha’s response, she immediately brought a thumb to join her mouth, the digit adding much needed pressure to the woman’s most sensitive place.

Fareeha gasped again, her moans getting louder as the combined pleasure made her brain short-circuit. “C…can you use… ah… a finger?” she gasped.

The doctor obliged, gently sliding a finger into the slick warmth and holding it still, to let the other woman adjust. Fareeha moaned as she slowly withdrew the digit, then slipped it back in with a careful thrust.

Immediately, Fareeha drew in a sharp breath, her eyes closing as her head rolled back in pleasure. Her hips began to roll in time with Angela’s thrusts, letting out harsh curses and moans as the blond woman increased her pace.

When the tension in the other woman’s body began to reach a fever pitch, Angela added another finger, making her moan louder.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” she said unnecessarily, her entire being wound so tightly that it could snap at any moment.

Then, suddenly, Fareeha let out a loud moan, her hips stuttering and her inner walls clenching rhythmically against Angela’s fingers as the blonde woman continued her thrusts at a gentler pace, helping her to ride out the aftershocks against her hand.

As her breathing slowed down, Fareeha pulled Angela back up, waiting for her to wipe her mouth clean before recapturing her lips. Eventually, she broke the kiss, whispering, “I… um… I wanna return the favor but… um… I’m not really sure what you like.”

“Just start with circles here,” Angela replied, finding one of the other woman’s hands and bringing it to her sex. It was her friend’s first time with a woman, and she didn’t know if she would be comfortable going down on her anyway.

So Fareeha did, tentatively rubbing gentle circles against her that made her swallow heavily and her breath come a bit faster. Angela felt that long-forgotten warmth building in her stomach, feeling the wetness begin to build up as her body became more and more aroused.

Fareeha slid her fingers through Angela’s sex, collecting what moisture they could as she explored her slick folds. In the meantime, her other hand found the doctor’s breast, taking it into her hand and rubbing her nipple with a thumb.

Angela began to rock back and forth, rubbing herself against one of Fareeha’s muscular thighs as her finger continued its unpracticed, but still enticing movements. The other woman’s hand left her breast, moving down to her hip to gently encourage Angela’s grinding motion.

“Can I… ah… put one inside?” Fareeha asked, her half-lidded eyes fixed on the woman moving in her lap.

“Uhm…” Angela replied. “Alright, just… ah… be careful okay? It’s been a long time.”

She felt the tip of a finger pushing against her entrance, and she inhaled sharply, forcing her muscles to relax and accommodate the relatively unfamiliar sensation.

But then it started moving, and Angela let out another moan and let Fareeha do the work, beginning to slowly push the finger in and out of her body. Her mind began to blank as the other woman moved, Fareeha’s thumb joining the onslaught on her senses with gentle circles over her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

She felt herself getting closer and closer, her body thrumming with energy as the woman lying below her pushed her right to the edge. She panted, her breaths coming rapidly as the cord threatened to snap.

Then, she came crashing to a finish, her hips stuttering as she let out a little cry, her eyes closed tightly and her breathing heavy and uneven. Her tension evaporated, and for that one blissful instant, it felt like someone actually cared.

Fareeha’s hands slipped from between them, her arms wrapping around the sweat-slicked skin of the blond woman laying against her chest, whose breaths began to deepen as her exhaustion began to get the better of her.

She knew she would regret this tomorrow. But for now, she was able to fall asleep in someone’s arms, relishing one brief moment of intimacy that held the loneliness at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so that happened. In case you hadn't noticed, Angela making decisions without thinking them through when she's drunk is becoming a bit of a theme in this series...
> 
> I had originally planned for this to be two separate chapters, but I figured I might as well make one longer one. Let me know if you all liked it!
> 
> Also, I really wanted to include this scene between Angela and Fareeha, but while I know a lot of authors like to make the whole cast gay or lesbian, that felt a little unrealistic to me, so I decided to make Fareeha bi/straightish and have a bit of a girl crush on Angela. So a lot of the differences you probably noticed between this scene and the one with Lena are mostly intentional :)
> 
> Anyway, until the next time, everyone!


	7. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! I'm back! And it's another longer chapter :) I hope you all like it!
> 
> I included quite a few hints and references for the future of the story in this chapter (Easter eggs I guess? Idk) so you probably might spot a few of those :)
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains heavy implications of torture, as well as a scene where it takes place (it is being interrupted in that scene, but still) If this bothers you in any way, please don't read it! I'll make sure to include a summary at the beginning of the next chapter, just in case.
> 
> Speaking of summaries, here's a summary of the last chapter: The missions to rescue Amélie have not been going well. Ever since she was abducted from her home in France, her loved ones have been in a bad way. Neither Gérard nor Angela is sleeping well, and they haven't been handling the stress. So when Angela meets an old friend in a bar, she can't help but let the loneliness get the better of her. And while sleeping with Fareeha might have seemed like a good idea at the time, she immediately knows she is going to regret it.

_When she awoke beside Fareeha, Angela had felt the cold hand of guilt clutch once more at her heart._

_It wasn’t worth it._

_Last night, she had thought that it would be. She just wanted to feel_ something _again. To be with someone, even if it was just for a moment._

_But it was a mistake. Now, she felt lonelier than ever, having just reawakened an old friendship, only to ruin it and take advantage of misplaced trust._

_“I told you, no strings attached,” Fareeha said again as Angela got dressed, trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact._

_But Angela didn’t really believe her._

_How could there be ‘no strings attached?’ Rule number one is to_ never _have a one-night stand with a friend. And it only makes it worse if she also just happens to be the daughter of your boss._

 _Angela had apologized over and over, ignoring the kind, comforting smile on Fareeha’s face that could so easily be concealing a world of hurt. Hurt that couldn’t be anything other than her fault_.

 _She knew Fareeha was just trying to make her stop blaming herself, but she stubbornly resisted. She didn’t_ deserve _to feel better._

_So as she was about to leave, Fareeha gave her a hug, telling her once more not to worry about it, and to stay in contact. But even now, more than a week later, and Angela had still been unable to bring herself to call the number she had been given, her shame and guilt making her stomach lurch every time she even thought of speaking to Fareeha again._

The doctor was jolted out of her thoughts by the turbulence as the transport began its descent.

She mentally shook herself to clear her mind. She should be focusing on the mission so that it wouldn’t turn out as badly as the last one. At least there was almost no chance of her accidentally sleeping with an old friend again, so it had that going for it.

And this time was their last chance, so it _had_ to pan out.

It _had_ to.

There would not be another mission like this. That had been made clear enough by the Overwatch leadership. Between the UN scrutiny and the lack of public support, the organization could hardly continue funding strikes that the news had called, “effectively a vigilante attack on mostly innocent civilian buildings all over the world in the misguided hope that they could be harboring terrorists.”

It was an unfair description, but there was not much they could do about it.

And now, with the money for continued attacks on Talon almost gone, there would be no way for Gérard to set up another mission to find Amélie.

This was their last chance.

At least their lead was something more substantial this time. Without any idea of where to even start looking for a Talon base, Angela and Gérard had previously been forced to follow up on the smallest of details, from sketchy arms deals to suspicious contracts, and they had ended up finding as many simple criminals as they did Talon.

But this time, they had an informant. An anonymous source within Blackwatch that had apparently discovered a Talon stronghold. And while that wasn’t exactly perfect evidence, it was the best they had had in a long while.

So when the transport came in for a landing, and the building finally came into sight, Angela could afford to feel a bit of hope for the first time in months.

_Today’s the day. I just know it._

There was something about the area that just seemed _off,_ regardless of how normal it looked. The streets were just a little too clean, the sidewalks just a little too empty. Not enough to be noticeable to a casual passerby, but since Angela knew what to look for, the place did seem a bit odd.

Maybe that was partly because the building was nothing like she had expected. For some reason, she had been expecting the Talon base where they were holding her friend to be a concrete bunker, low and sinister, surrounded by guards and defenses. Deep within the fortified walls, after fighting their way through seemingly endless underground tunnels and hordes of Talon soldiers, they would find Amélie, saving her at the last possible minute just as she was about to be interrogated. They would force their way in, and she and Gérard would smother her in hugs, telling her everything would be alright, before leading her from the miserable place.

Okay, so maybe it was a bit unrealistically heroic in her mind.

She had imagined it somewhere snowy, too. It seemed appropriate for the cold, heartless bastards they were to set up their headquarters someplace where the weather matched their personality.

Maybe Siberia. In some long-abandoned nuclear bunker. That would fit perfectly.

What she had definitely not been expecting was a nondescript office building on the outskirts of Venice.

Of course, it made a lot of sense when she thought about it. A base of operations would naturally have a lot of traffic, and while no one would think twice about people and vehicles coming and going from an office building, it would be hard for the satellite surveillance networks to miss that kind of bustle around a bunker that had been devoid of activity for the last 80 years.

It made even more sense considering Blackwatch’s recent attack in the city. With the Talon stronghold so recently taken out by Commander Reyes and his strike team, the last place anyone would guess that Talon would try to set up again was just outside the very same city, essentially right under their very noses.

“We didn’t get much specific info on the layout from our contact in Blackwatch,” Gérard said as their small team approached the building on foot. “But we do know that most of the important operations are held underground, in a complex of sorts. The offices aboveground are more of a façade to keep the place inconspicuous.”

_Well, at least I was right about the creepy tunnels._

“Understood. Do we know who our ‘contact’ is? I prefer to know something about my sources before I start risking my life for their information,” replied one of the agents, a woman that Angela had seen around the base, but did not know by name.

Gérard sighed unhappily. “No. I’m sorry, Kimiko, but all my information came from Commander Reyes, and if he knew who it was, he didn’t tell me,” he replied.

The woman, Kimiko apparently, shrugged. “I didn’t expect them to tell us. They’ve been keeping us in the dark about a lot lately.”

“We’ll just have to stay alert,” he replied. “React to everything as it comes at us.”

As Kimiko nodded, another agent interjected, a slightly nervous, lopsided grin forming on his face. “No different from usual, then,” he supplied.

The other agents chuckled at that as they readied their weapons.

“Before we go any further,” Gérard said, struck by a thought as they briefly came to a halt a few blocks from the building. “Everyone on the team should know each other by name, just in case. And while this team has worked together before, I should introduce the woman that will be joining us for this mission.”

With those words, he gestured at the doctor, who gave the other agents a smile and a little wave. “Everyone, this is Mercy. She’ll be our medic, so let her know if you need any kind of assistance.” Then, he began to point at each agent in turn, starting from the man that had just spoken. “This is Yuri, then there’s Alexis, Parker, and Kimiko.”

As he said each of their names, the agents nodded a greeting to Angela, who smiled at each one as she committed their names and faces to memory.

“Alright, with that out of the way, let’s get to it. Expect resistance, but they shouldn’t be expecting an attack, so hopefully it will be light. Good luck,” Gérard said, drawing his own weapon and jogging for the entrance with the rest of the team hot on his heels.

Ironically, when the six agents burst into the main entrance, armed and ready for action, they found the lobby almost completely deserted, with only a bored-looking security officer occupying the lobby, propping his feet up on the front desk. He gave a mild shout of surprise, trying to leap to his feet to meet the intruders, but starting from his relaxed position, he only succeeded in catching his feet on the lip of the table, flopping awkwardly, and almost falling from his chair. Then, Gérard was on him, pinning and quickly disarming the shocked guard.

In a matter of moments, the man’s wrists and ankles were zip-tied, and he was left sitting, looking disgruntled and still a bit confused, on the floor behind his desk.

With that, and some help from the disabled security guard’s badge to activate one of the service elevators, Overwatch found its way deeper into the complex.

Strangely, it turned out that the bottom floor was just like the basement of almost any other rundown office building in the world. Grey concrete corridors, sporadically lit by florescent bulbs that cast a harsh, slightly flickering white light. Off the main hallway, there were all the storage rooms, circuit breakers, and machinery that a building like this might need, making the perfect impression of a normal basement.

In fact, it was a little too perfect. No messily packed boxes, no broken office equipment, not even evidence of the repairs or water damage that a building like this was bound to have experienced at some point in its life. In fact, now that she was looking for it, Angela could tell that in places, the paint was new, but made to look old and faded.

In fact, much of the basement had that look. The building itself was not new, but clearly, some major work had been done relatively recently on this floor, then the walls were expertly repainted to look as if nothing had happened.

Especially a few of the storage rooms.

They were at the epicenter of the area that had been remodeled, and one of them was rather conspicuously locked.

_The perfect spot to hide the entrance to an underground facility. Especially if you don’t want anyone accidentally finding it. A building inspector would definitely want to see inside if you just put a Caution: High Voltage sign, but a boring storage closet? Much less obvious._

At a nod from Gérard, Kimiko withdrew a set of lockpicks from her pocket and set to work on the door, fiddling with it for barely a few minutes before the lock gave a click and yielded. She grinned, satisfied with her work, then stepped back for the other agents to take a look inside.

A short, unlit stairway greeted them inside the ‘storage closet.’ At the bottom of the concrete steps, there was another closed door, a bright light creeping through the crack underneath the unmarked metal. Mercy made eye contact with Gérard, but he just shrugged and stepped inside to open it as well, holding it for the agents that followed.

_This is it._

The first thing Mercy noticed when she first set foot inside the Talon facility was how bright it was. The light was almost blinding, glinting off polished white floor tiles and burnished stainless-steel doors, and leaving the Overwatch agents squinting and shading their eyes after the dimness of the basement above. The walls, too, were painted in a brilliant white, and the entire hallway was only made harsher by the intense florescent lighting. The bulbs were everywhere, creating a consistent, brutal level of illumination. It reminded her of a hospital, but a hundred times worse.

 _‘No, not a hospital,’_ she realized with a shudder. _‘It’s an interrogation room.’_

And it wasn’t just a room. It was a whole facility. The corridor was immense, stretching before them for hundreds of seemingly identical meters, the only markers of distance being the stylized red T emblazoned intermittently on the walls.

_Well, if there were any doubts if this was Talon…_

Angela grimaced, but their team continued on, quietly making their way down the hallway and opening every door as they went. Every time they whipped one open, they tensed, half-expecting a firefight to break out at any moment, but instead, they merely found rooms upon empty rooms, filled with nothing but seemingly random assortments of medical equipment.

But then, the silence was suddenly broken as a heart-wrenching, anguished scream echoed through the hallway, only slightly muffled by whichever door contained it.

The agents paled, briefly stunned by the sheer, unadulterated _agony_ in the sound.

_Oh God._

Without even a glance between them, all six began to run toward its source, no longer worried about their footsteps alerting Talon to their presence. Doors slammed back on their hinges as they urgently scanned every room, determined to stop this poor, tortured woman’s pain. Unfortunately, the Overwatch agents began to encounter rooms that were occupied, and fights broke out all along the corridor as they fought back against the now-alerted forces of Talon.

A few gunshots sounded as the enemy soldiers managed to arm themselves, and all along the corridor, those familiar black uniforms began to emerge, readying their weapons for the coming firefight. Mercy drew her pistol and gave her surroundings a quick search, hoping for some form of cover in the nearly featureless hallway.

Then, as she did that, another shriek of pain reached her ears, and she abandoned her search for cover.

The second scream had given her a good idea of where the woman was, so she sprinted forward, firing sporadically to suppress some of the incoming fire.

_There!_

Angela dove to the right, throwing open the door.

And she froze, thinking she might vomit from the sight before her.

Near the back of the room, a tall, thin man in a lab coat stood abruptly from where he was bent over a modified examination table, his demented, almost gleeful expression fading to one of shock at the sounds of gunfire, followed by Mercy’s sudden appearance. A half-spent syringe dropped from his hand, clattering to the floor behind the table where, tied securely to its surface, was a young woman.

She was completely naked, a system of electrodes all across her body connecting her to some kind of machine, which hummed dangerously in the corner. Begging, desperate tears streamed down her face as she thrashed violently against the straps that held her to the table. She too, had noticed Mercy’s arrival, and met her eyes with one silent, frightfully hopeless plea.

_Help me._

_Please. Help me._

Her eyes closed as the machine gave an electrical buzz, her body convulsing as yet another electric shock coursed through her body, and Mercy felt herself overcome with rage. Before she even realized it, she had her gun levelled at the man in the lab coat, ready to fire.

She knew that people like this often liked to call themselves doctors, but nothing could be further from the truth. Doctors help people. But this, this was an insult to the very _idea_ of medicine. These people were torturers. Nothing more.

By now, Mercy had been forced to kill on several of her missions with Overwatch, and it had never gotten any easier. She had always found herself hesitating, trying not to pull the trigger until it was absolutely necessary. Until today.

This man wasn’t a simple soldier, just doing his job because he needed the money, or because he had gotten himself involved with the wrong people. He was _torturing someone._ And he had been enjoying it.

_He was fucking enjoying it._

Mercy pulled the trigger. Then again. And again. And again. It was a little frightening how calmly she found herself doing it, but she had seen enough. This time, she felt no guilt. The man was dead with the first shot. The next three were just to be sure.

His body had hardly hit the floor before Mercy had holstered her pistol and sprinted to the machine, urgently disconnecting everything she could until she made that horrible electrical whirring died away. And as it did, its intermittent shocks finally came to a stop, and the young woman’s body went limp as her muscles were at last given a chance to relax.

The woman inhaled once, pulling a massive, shuddering breath of relief before her eyes fluttered open, looking up at Mercy with an expression of wonder.

 _‘Thank you,’_ her eyes said. ‘ _Oh my God, thank you.’_

Mercy immediately began to remove the stranger’s bindings, hearing the gunfire outside rapidly die away as the Overwatch agents rapidly gained the upper hand over the disorganized Talon soldiers they had taken by surprise. Gérard stumbled into the room, bleeding slightly from a cut on his cheek.

“Mercy, are you alright? I heard…” he began, then stopped as he took in the scene before him. The dead man, along with Angela squeezing the young woman’s hand reassuringly as her harsh breathing slowly calmed, told him everything he needed to know.

“I’ll find her some clothes,” he said, his voice taking on a gentle tone before he slipped hurriedly from the room.

The woman didn’t speak at first, content to simply draw large, steadying breaths of air into her lungs as she squeezed the doctor’s hand. When she finally did speak, her voice was raw and rough, making it even more obvious that the two screams they had heard were not her first, and Mercy felt another stab of empathy. The woman’s lips tried to form into a smile as she looked up at Angela, her eyes filled with tears of relief. “Are you an angel?” she asked. “I’m not dead, am I?”

The doctor gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “No,” she replied. “You’re very much alive, despite what those bastards did to you. So, no. I’m not an angel.”

The woman slumped back down, her eyes closing as the tension in her body further relaxed. “Good. Not dead is good,” she sighed thankfully. Then her eyes reopened, clearer and more focused than before as she made a much more successful attempt at a smile. “You would make an amazing angel, though.”

Angela returned her smile, warmly and sincerely. “I’ll make sure to hand in my resumé,” she replied. And the other woman began to laugh. And laugh. She laughed for nearly two minutes before her giggles dissolved into more tears of relief. And all the while, Angela was squeezing her hand, rubbing it with her thumb and telling her she would be alright. Her comment wasn’t even that funny, but the doctor wasn’t planning to judge some of the human body’s stranger ways of dealing with stress.

Moments later, Gérard hastily reentered the room, a uniform of some sort clasped in his hand. “Here you are,” he said, keeping his eyes politely averted as he handed it to the woman. “I found this in a storage locker. Sorry, I couldn’t find any underwear, but I didn’t really take the time to look. We still haven’t been able to find Amélie.”

“Don’t apologize,” she replied, quickly getting to her feet, only to have her legs collapse beneath her, groaning slightly as her entire body suddenly felt like jelly. Immediately, Angela caught her arm to keep her from falling, and she flashed the doctor a quick smile of thanks. “Please, find whoever you can. The thought of anyone else having to suffer like that any longer,” her voice broke as she shuddered involuntarily, “just because you wasted time making me more comfortable?” She shook her head vigorously. “No thank you.”

Gérard nodded, wanting more than ever to run back and keep searching the halls for Amélie, but he restrained himself for a few moments longer. “At least let us help you get dressed,” he said. “It would be cruel to make you follow us like this, just because I’m impatient.”

With a smile and a nod of appreciation, the woman allowed them to help her dress quickly, murmuring another ‘thank you’ every time they caught her or helped her remain standing. Electric shocks, along with whatever chemical was in that godforsaken syringe, really had a way of making one’s muscles unreliable.

“What’s your name?” Angela asked.

“I’m Sophie,” the woman replied a little shakily. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Angela,” she said. “That’s Gérard.”

When the other woman nodded, she continued, “Listen, Sophie, I know this place has awful memories for you, so I understand if you can’t stay here any longer, but we’re looking for somebody. If you really want to, you might be able to make it out of here. They probably haven’t sent reinforcements yet, even if they have gotten word of this strike, so you should be able to find our transport and wait there if you want. But it might be dangerous to go alone.”

Sophie shook her head determinedly. “I’m not going anywhere alone. I hate the thought of spending even another minute here, but I’m not going to risk getting recaptured or something if I try to sneak out by myself. Besides, how would I even know where your transport is? For better or for worse, I’m sticking with you,” she said, her voice becoming more and more even with every word.

Angela nodded, “I was hoping you would say that.”

It turned out, having someone more familiar with the facility was actually rather helpful, and Sophie was anxious to stop others from needlessly suffering as she had. And now that the Talon agents had been killed (luckily, the element of surprise had helped the Overwatch agents to escape with only some relatively minor wounds, which were easily healed by Mercy’s staff), they could afford to be more methodical, checking every room thoroughly for any sign of the Frenchwoman.

But some of the sights in those rooms were more than enough to make Angela gag.

It was clear that Sophie was one of only a few that had survived whatever experiments Talon had been performing on them. Men and women alike were sprawled on operating tables and in body bags, some of their bodies hideously mutilated by the work of these ‘scientists.’

Some had been cut open, various organs being removed and replaced with cybernetic equivalents that obviously had not functioned. Others had undergone extensive brain surgery, which had either killed them, or left them babbling husks of their former selves for which Talon had no use. They accounted for the ones that were riddled with bullet holes. The rest seemed to have been altered in a less intrusive way, their skin somehow turned a distinctive, unnatural deep blue color by some experiment or another that seemed to have altered their entire body chemistry.

It made Angela glad that she had not eaten recently.

Needless to say, they didn’t allow Sophie to see into those rooms. It was bad enough for the Overwatch agents: more than half of them were looking noticeably green at the sight of some of the more gruesome rooms, and they had not just been through the same torture Sophie had been enduring. The poor girl didn’t need any more trauma today.

But thankfully, there were still a few left alive. None of the surgery rooms held any living patients, but in a little cell block, they found three men and five women that had survived Talon’s ordeal with their minds and bodies mostly intact, each kept in a tiny cell not much bigger than a broom closet.

And just as they had with Sophie, the agents helped to find them clothing and care for them before returning to their search, but as the number of remaining rooms began to dwindle, Angela felt that pit of desperation begin to settle once again in her stomach.

 _She_ _has to be here. Please._

Now that they knew what Talon was capable of doing to their captives, their hope drained away faster than it had on any previous mission. If Amélie wasn’t here, she was either already dead or condemned to a lifetime with these sick bastards. Both options made Angela feel even more nauseous.

But finally, in one of the farthest rooms, a locked cell door finally gave way to a sight that brought tears of joy and relief to the both of them.

In one of those very last cells, they found Amélie Lacroix, alone and tied to a chair just as Angela had pictured.

She was bruised, battered, and obviously exhausted. And when she raised her head, fixing her saviors with a weak smile, it all became worth it. All the fear and worry and pain and sleepless nights had all paid off.

She was _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Amélie's back! Let me know what you all thought :)
> 
> Also, I wanted to include Kimiko in the strike team, because she's probably one of the best-known members of the original Overwatch that isn't already in the game, but the rest of the strike team are original characters. Sophie is too, and I feel bad for just throwing someone in there, but I'm not completely sure how much more I'm going to include her. She was mostly there to show some of the kinds of things Amélie might have had to go through.
> 
> By the way, I've obviously never been tortured or brainwashed (and I tried to resist researching the subject too much: I don't wanna end up on some kind of watchlist or something) so I'll admit, I'm kind of out of my depth writing stuff like this. If you have any preferences or suggestions on how to improve something like this, let me know!
> 
> And even if you just wanna guess who our mystery informant in Blackwatch is, your comments are always absolutely appreciated!


	8. The Return of Amélie Lacroix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about this chapter... It felt weird to write, but I hope it turned out okay.
> 
> Anyway, another quick chapter warning: Amélie has a nightmare/flashback at the end of this chapter. It deals with her experiences at Talon, so if it isn't for you, don't read the part in italics after the final horizontal bar.
> 
> Summary of the last chapter for those that didn't want to read it:  
> After receiving an anonymous tip off from someone in Blackwatch, Angela and Gérard finally found a prospective Talon base where Amélie is being held. Inside, they encounter several Talon agents, as well as a large number of hostages, all taken from their homes and used for experimentation. Only a few survived, but luckily, Amélie is among them... The rest is continued in this chapter

“Amélie!” Gérard exclaimed when he recognized the slumped form of the woman before him. He rushed to his wife’s side, searching her up and down for any and all signs of harm.

The woman tensed at the sound of his voice, her eyes full of confusion for several seconds as they searched his and Angela’s faces. She glanced uncertainly from one, to the other, and back, her face blank and unrecognizing. Then, after a few long moments that had Angela’s heart taking up residence in her throat, a look of recognition finally swept over Amélie’s face, and she relaxed in her seat, the expression in her eyes transforming to one of tentative hope.

When she spoke, her voice was thin and croaking, lack of use making it sound almost nothing like her usual rich tones. “Gérard? Angela? C’est vous?” she stuttered, squinting up at the forms outlined against the intrusion of light into her dim cell.

Tears of relief flowed down Gérard’s cheeks as he lifted his wife from the chair and wrapped her in his arms, desperately happy to see her unharmed. “Oui!” he cried. “Oui, c’est moi, chérie!” He held her tightly, his hands rubbing gentle circles on her back as his voice dropped to a soothing whisper.

Despite her own urge to throw her arms around the other woman in relief, Angela held back, letting them have their reunion in peace. The loss of Amélie had been tearing him apart, and it warmed her heart to see her friend genuinely smile for the first time in months. It was only after several minutes that, as if just realizing that they were not alone, Gérard stepped back. “Sorry,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

Angela gave him a quick grin, nodding to let him know that he was forgiven, before she was unable to wait any longer and pulled her best friend into a long-overdue embrace.

“Amélie, Mein Gott, I missed you!” she murmured, tears of her own sliding down her cheeks as her arms wrapped tightly around the dark-haired woman, rubbing them up and down to warm her cool, almost chilly, naked skin.

_It must have been freezing in here._

“I missed you too, Angela,” came Amélie’s whispered reply, smiling into the doctor’s neck as she returned the hug. “Thank you. For coming to find me. It’s been… merde… it’s been…” she trailed off uncertainly.

“It’s been four months,” Angela supplied as she slowly leaned back from the hug.

“Four months?” Amélie repeated in surprise, then she shook her head. “Non, c’est pas possible. There’s no way it was so long. I thought one month, maybe. Perhaps two. Not four. How can it be?”

“I’m so sorry,” Angela said, rubbing soothing circles on her friend’s back as her friend’s face became an incomprehensible mask of anger, disbelief, and sadness.

“How badly did they hurt you, mein Schatz?” she asked when the silence became too much, pulling back from their embrace to give her friend a thorough once-over, her analytical eye scanning quickly down the other woman’s body for any evidence of wounds or other physical damage.

Amélie stared vacantly back at her, not seeming to register the question for several moments, before shaking her head quickly to clear her thoughts. “I…” she began, then paused, looking confused. “I don’t think…”

For a few heartbreaking moments, Amélie’s face scrunched up in thought as she struggled to remember something, before she gave up with a helpless sigh. “I don’t… I don’t remember,” she said, her bottom lip trembling as she spoke. “I don’t think they did. I would… I would remember, wouldn’t I?”

 _‘Not necessarily,’_ Angela’s brain supplied as she pulled her friend into a tight hug, tears welling in her eyes as the grimmest possibilities sprung to mind. _‘If the trauma is bad enough, sometimes the only way to cope is to forget.’_

But Angela said nothing, only able to hope that Amélie was, in fact, correct, because the thought of Amélie strapped to a table, with no one to respond to her screams of agony as this gang of sociopaths “experimented” on her was just too painful to bear.

Experiments that her brain had effectively edited out of her memory because it was just _too much_.

Realizing that Amélie was waiting for a response, Angela quickly nodded her head, glad that her tearful face was concealed. There was no reason to mention that to her _now._ “Yes. Of course. Of course, you would,” Angela replied, glad that her practiced bedside manner allowed her to keep her voice surprisingly steady as she did so. She gave Amélie another quick squeeze, then pulled back to look the other woman in the eyes. “Let’s find you some clothes and get you out of here, okay?”

Wordlessly, Amélie nodded, and proceeded to eagerly follow the agents from the complex, her arms wrapped around her husband the entire way. She was more than ready to leave this terrible place.

* * *

“EXCUSE ME?!” Angela shouted, slamming her fist down on Commander Morrison’s desk, already furious with him barely twenty minutes after her return. “What do you mean, we don’t have any psychiatrists?! We have a whole fucking department for that, so go ahead and pull the other one! ‘Overwatch Mental Health Services,’” she mocked, shaking her head in disbelief, “Is already some kind of sick joke! It’s more of a ‘Give The Meatheads Drugs Until They Stop Complaining So They Can Go Out There And Die Some More’ Service than anything else, but at least it’s _something_. I’ll eat my fucking lab coat when I see someone _properly_ treated for their PTSD in this place!”

Commander Morrison opened his mouth to respond, but Angela wasn’t finished. “And don’t even get me started on the wait times for an appointment! Do you know how many people _I_ have to console myself, just because these ‘professionals’ are too damn incompetent to even see their damn patients? I’m a _medical_ doctor. I don’t know the first thing about psychotherapy!”

“There aren’t…” he began, but the doctor cut him off again.

“And now, we have people that lived through a _fucking torture chamber_ and they can’t find it in themselves to GET OFF THEIR ASSES AND HELP THESE PEOPLE!”

Furiously, Angela paused, breathing heavily as she waited impatiently for his answer. The very thought of people so self-absorbed that they refused to help others (despite it being their job) made her sick to her stomach.

“I mean,” the commander said. “We actually don’t have any. At all. The department was disbanded.”

Angela froze, speechless.

_What. The. Fuck._

_Whose “brilliant idea” was that?_

Seeming to sense her still-inflaming temper, Commander Morrison continued. “For the last couple of months, the mental health department has been costing us more and more money. The turnover rate’s been terrible, and the money just keeps slipping through the cracks. The director shut it down until a full investigation could be conducted.”

“And you didn’t think,” Angela growled, fixing Overwatch’s commander with a glare that made him shrink in his seat. “That it might be a bad idea to just fucking ignore the psychological effects of missions that _you_ send people on, just because it was ‘costing too much money?’”

“Of course, but there’s only so much I can do about it. I can’t even check on it myself ever since _bureaucracy_ decided to move that department to Blackwatch’s control. Basically, my hands are tied,” he said with a shrug.

“Then maybe, if you spent less time ‘getting your hands tied’ in bed with Reyes, you could have been bothered to ask _him_ why I’m going to have to tell Amélie that the organization whose information she was probably _tortured for_ couldn’t be bothered to help her recover,” she spat acidly.

Commander Morrison glared at her, but she was too angry to care that her comment was probably overstepping all sorts of boundaries. He crossed his arms and leaned back a bit in his chair. “I already did,” he replied, still annoyingly calmly. “He said he’s looking into it, but the head of the bioscience division is making it difficult.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she snorted, suddenly remembering who that person was. “Moira makes everything difficult. Why Reyes ever took her in after I fired her is beyond me.”

Morrison shrugged, “I don’t always understand his choices. But that isn’t the point. Because you’re absolutely correct, doctor, these people do need something and you’re the closest we have. You said you’ve done this kind of thing before, so can you just do it this time? I promise, this situation should be cleared up soon.”

Angela groaned, rubbing her eyes as her body reminded her just _how tired_ she was, not just of _assumptions_ like these, but in general. It really had been a long day, and her exhaustion was beginning to show through the cracks. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she said with a sigh. “I never learned psychotherapy. I was _improvising!_ These people need better than that. They just went through more trauma than most people have to deal with in their whole lives! They need someone that actually knows what they’re doing!”

“Look, Angela, I understand, I really do. But even if I could just summon some new employees out of thin air, I still can’t go against the director. So for now, you’re the best we have,” he responded, giving her a surprisingly sympathetic look before continuing. “Because if you don’t, I think Moira’s probably the next most qualified.”

The doctor was already shaking her head before he even finished the sentence, fixing the commander with a blazing glare. “Need I remind you,” she said, her voice returning once more to her growl of anger. “That the woman had her medical license revoked. By _every country in the world._ ”

The commander opened his mouth, but Angela cut him off.

“Every. Country. In. The. World. You know how hard it is to get everyone in the world to agree on _anything._ Even Omnics don’t want her working on them, and they aren’t even _biological,_ ” she said, with a dangerous glint in her eye. “So forgive me if I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her. As much as I would love to find out how far that is.”

“I know you don’t…”

“I’ll do it, but you better get some real, actual psychiatrists hired so these people can get some trained therapy, or so help me, Jack…” she said, almost snarling with disdain as she let the threat hang.

The commander of Overwatch could only nod vaguely as Dr. Ziegler gave him one last pointed glare, then whipped around and left, slamming the door behind her. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, then picked up the phone and dialed the director. As much as he knew he should reprimand his subordinate for speaking to him that way, she was right. Something needed to be done about this, and the timing of this whole thing _was_ rather strange.

* * *

“So how did things go with Morrison?” came the inquiring voice of Gérard as she stormed down to her office. The Frenchman was sitting on a bench outside the medical bay, his arm wrapped tightly around a silent Amélie.

Angela stopped for a moment, sparing a glance for her friend and feeling her heart break all over again as she saw how _small_ and _pale_ the woman looked. Before, ‘frail’ would never have been a word she used to describe Amélie under any circumstances. It was part of the reason everyone found her so attractive: she was strong and confident and graceful and beautiful in every sense of the words, always ready a quick joke, a comforting hug, or a shoulder to lean on whenever her friends needed it.

But whatever Talon had done to her had taken all that away. Amélie looked as if she was trying to hide, as if she thought she could disappear if she tucked herself closely enough into Gérard’s body, and it was _horrible_ to see her reduced to such a state.

Angela shook herself from her thoughts, realizing that she was taking too long to respond. “Apparently,” she spat, trying and failing to ignore how the sudden sound of her voice made Amélie flinch. “We don’t even _have_ a fucking mental health department anymore.” She swallowed, avoiding any further explanation as she realized Amélie needed her help now more than ever. She didn’t deserve to have to sit through another of Angela’s rants, not right now.

“I’ll… um… I’ll get some things ready and be right back, alright?” she said, her voice shifting into its kindest and warmest tone as she smiled affectionately in Amélie’s direction. “Then maybe we can talk for a bit, and I can try to find you someone to see a bit more regularly back in France. Who knows, maybe even someone in Annecy, alright?”

The doctor waited only just long enough to see Amélie’s responding nod, then she was off in a blur, stripping off her combat medic uniform and Valkyrie suit before donning her lab coat and stethoscope and quickly returning to the woman that so desperately needed her help.

She held back a yawn as she arrived, trying not to show how tired she was. The countless weeks of sleepless nights, combined with their intense, but successful mission today, had left her almost collapsing with exhaustion. But Amélie needed help much more than Angela needed rest.

_I could definitely use some coffee though._

“So,” she said on her return, ensuring that she had a fresh document open on her tablet. “Would you like to talk inside my office or out here? Or would you prefer to go outside for some fresh air?”

Amélie thought for a moment, then spoke quietly, finally lifting herself from Gérard’s embrace. “Outside, s’il vous plaît.”

“Do you want me along?” Gérard asked, his voice concerned.

Amélie looked uncertain for several moments, but eventually shook her head slightly, her face apologetic. “I hate that you have to see me like this, chéri.”

The Frenchman shook his head, taking her hands in his own and kissing her forehead. “You never need to be ashamed of yourself in front of me, Amélie,” he said with a kind smile. “I’m just glad to have you back. But I’ll wait in my quarters if you’d prefer. I would love it if you would join me there afterwards, though. I’ve missed you so much.”

And with that, he turned and left with a whispered, “I love you,” and Angela was finally alone with her patient. She opened her mouth to speak, but the other woman just pushed herself stiffly to her feet and led her from the building without a word.

When the door opened, Angela was met with a blast of chilly air, the Alpine gust shocking her into a deep, refreshing breath. She had forgotten how beautiful the base could be at sunset, even before the approaching winter brought a pristine coat of snow to the area. With a glance beside her, she could see that Amélie, too, seemed to be gazing off into the distance, appreciating the scenery as she drew in massive, grateful breaths of the crisp air.

Seeing that her friend was distracted, Angela took the opportunity to run her well-trained eye over her once more, further analyzing the damage done by Talon. On the shuttle ride back, Angela had performed some preliminary treatment on all the survivors, healing whatever damage she could with her caduceus staff.

And although Amélie had not required treatment, her condition was by far the most concerning. Where the others had a few open cuts and lacerations, or recently broken bones in the process of healing, the evidence of Amélie’s experience was far older. During its analysis of her body, Angela’s medical scan found wounds, both external and internal, that looked to be months old, their surfaces having all but disappeared through a combination of time and surprisingly high-quality medical care.

Almost no point on her body had been unmarked by Talon’s torturers, but there was nothing Angela could do anymore except to wipe away any remaining traces of their work: to make sure old scars and healed fractures would never pain her again.

But it wasn’t the physical damage that made Angela’s heart throb whenever she thought of her friend’s condition. The body heals quickly, after all. Especially with her nanotechnology, visible scars were never the ones that hurt the most. It was the invisible ones: the mental scars that hide away, slowly chipping away at someone’s life until there was nothing left. Those ones were always the scariest.

Those were the ones that often made her feel so terrifyingly helpless.

She seriously doubted that Amélie had not been tortured at Talon. She didn’t believe that for a second. Of course, that was not to say that she did not believe _Am_ _élie_. It was obvious that the Frenchwoman was telling the truth, or at least, what she knew of it. But she obviously just… _couldn’t remember._

This was all shaping up to be one of the worst cases of PTSD Angela had ever seen.

Everything, from the way she was acting, to the way she breathed, even down to how she was looking at Angela’s stethoscope as if it would jump up and bite her, screamed it. She could not even remember things that had obviously happened to her, no matter how traumatizing they must have been. Angela just wished she knew how to talk to her about it.

“I never got the chance to tell you about my first mission,” Angela said abruptly, shattering the silence with her impulsive comment.

The other woman whipped around at the sound of her voice, but her face remained impassive for several moments before breaking into a small smile that Angela took as a hint to continue. “We were ambushed while we were investigating a supply depot. Everything happened so quickly, I could barely tell what was happening, but we all made it out in one piece,” she quickly elaborated, the words seeming to come out in a rush as she tried to make her friend feel more at ease.

Amélie’s smile remained, and Angela’s heart leapt at seeing her friend smile again after having been through so much. “I take it Commander Morrison was pleased?” she asked.

“Pfft, he’s never pleased about anything…” Angela said, returning the smile with one of her own. “You know how he is. But he couldn’t have been too upset, or he probably wouldn’t have brought me onto the team.”

“I’m proud of you, Angela,” the Frenchwoman whispered, quietly enough that Angela had to lean in to hear what was being said. “So very proud.”

Angela felt a tear of happiness worm its way into her eye, her entire vision misting up as all the emotions following Amélie’s rescue hit her sleep-deprived brain at once. Her friend was _back._ A bit battered, and a little worse for wear, but she was _back._ They had done it.

“And I’m very thankful, too,” Amélie continued. “I know I never really said it very well before, but thank you, Angela Ziegler. Thank you so much for getting me out of there. Without you… and… and Gérard…” she trailed off, the implication remaining heavy in the air.

The doctor slid her hands down Amélie’s arms, working her hands into the woman’s frigid, tightly clenched fists.

_Shit, her hands are freezing._

“What really happened there?” Angela asked gently, rubbing the other woman’s hands so as to return some warmth to her chilled skin as the other woman shrugged slightly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but just know that I’m here to help.”

Amélie was silent for a long moment. They just stood there, hands clasped tightly together as the other woman gathered her thoughts. “It was cold,” she said eventually. “It was so cold, all the time. I… I couldn’t stand it at first.”

Another gust of wind blew as the last of the sunlight disappeared completely, making Angela shiver as the temperature plummeted another several degrees. She was just thinking how nice that coffee would be right about now, when suddenly, the implications of Amélie’s words hit home. “Shit,” she said, slipping out of her lab coat and draping it over the relatively thin fabric of the other woman’s top. “I didn’t think. It’s so cold out here too, this is probably bringing back some terrible memories for you.”

“I don’t even feel the cold,” Amélie replied with a shrug, pushing the coat back towards the doctor, whose teeth were beginning to chatter in nothing but her t-shirt and black pants. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to it.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. Amélie used to _hate_ the cold. Every winter, she would complain at least once about how ballet slippers were too thin and that the floor was _freezing_. But she supposed that after several months, it was possible to get used to anything. Still, used to it or not, Angela wasn’t about to let them freeze to death out here, so she pushed the taller woman back to the building, the wind slamming the door shut behind them as they panted lightly in the entranceway.

No. Not they. Just her. The cold wind had left _her_ lightly panting in the entranceway.

_Damn, she wasn’t kidding when she said the cold didn’t bother her anymore._

Instead, the woman was just staring at her unblinkingly, her eyes tinged with something that looked like amusement, as if Angela’s reaction was the strangest thing she had seen in months.

The doctor raised an eyebrow again, but Amélie let out a soft chuckle and poked her in the side. “Aren’t you supposed to be Swiss, doctor? You should be used to the weather here by now.”

Angela let out a slightly uncomfortable chuckle of her own, wishing more than anything to give in to the excuse to fall into their usual banter and forget all about this. But something seemed off about her friend. Her smile looked a little forced, her reactions just a bit inconsistent every time she spoke.

 _‘I’m sorry, Am_ _élie,’_ she thought sadly. _‘We should have found you sooner.’_

“Are you sure you’re alright, Amélie? What did they want from you?” she asked in a quiet voice, unable to go without knowing the answer any longer. “Why did they take you from us?”

The other woman closed her eyes tightly, speaking in a slow and measured pattern after a few moments of silence. “I… I’m not completely sure,” she said, her muscles tensing visibly when Angela brushed a hand soothingly along her arm. “I… just remember… this man… he was asking for something.”

“What did he want?” Angela asked. “Information?”

Amélie shrugged, “Maybe? I really don’t remember, doctor.”

The blond woman wanted to protest, to ask her to try to remember, but Amélie’s mouth opened in a yawn, and she was quickly reminded to look after her patient’s health first. Her curiosity could wait.

“Go ahead and head back to your quarters, Amélie,” Angela said, trying not to yawn herself as her body reminded her just how tired she herself was. “We’ll talk more in the morning, alright?”

Her friend nodded, and gave her a brief hug before turning towards Gérard’s room.

“And Amélie?” the doctor called once more, and the Frenchwoman turned once more to give her a knowing smile, as if she knew what was coming. “Please, make sure to let me know if you experience anything. Anger, depression, guilt, I don’t care. Please tell me, alright?”

The other woman nodded, and Angela felt the need to add one more thing, “Especially nightmares. If you have any, don’t hesitate to call me. I really don’t mind being woken up, and I want to help you as well as I can.”

Amélie nodded, and with one final wave, she turned again, heading to get some much-needed rest.

Meanwhile, the doctor hesitantly returned to her office. As much as she hated how they had parted ways, Amélie was not her only patient tonight.

* * *

But that night, Amélie did have nightmares.

_A bloodstained lab coat swishing around a cackling man’s shoulders as he locked the door behind him._

_As if she was watching someone else entirely, she saw herself begin to pound at the door, screaming in terror and loneliness for hours on end before sinking, exhausted, to the ground and crying herself to sleep. For days and weeks and even months on end. She was so alone. But as much as she hated the loneliness, it was even worse when the man stayed._

_Suddenly, she was back in the lab, strapped to the chair, with yet another vile liquid being injected into her body. Her blood felt like it was on fire as it surged through her, making her entire being feel as if it was being dipped in boiling water._

_“How many lights are there?” came the evil, disembodied voice._

_Through glassy eyes, she looked up at the wall, where a number of brutally, mind-numbingly bright lights shone down on her as she struggled against her bonds. She used to think there were four, but now, after so long, she was not so sure anymore. They left spots in her vision when she blinked roughly, but even through squinted, straining eyes, the image became no clearer._

_The pain would stop if she would just tell him what he wanted to hear._

_It would be so easy to say. She was completely exhausted, and besides, maybe the man was right. Maybe there were five. Through her blurred eyesight and double vision, she could hardly tell anymore._

_There were five lights. She just had to say it, and he would finally stop hurting her._

_She shuddered in pain as another electrical current raced through her body. She was taking too long to respond._

_“There are five lights!” she replied with a gasp, her entire being defeated. “I see five.”_

_“Excellent,” the voice laughed mockingly. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, all I want from you is your cooperation. That’s it. Do I have your cooperation?”_

_“Yes,” she said, unable to resist his will for any longer. She hadn’t slept in… days? Weeks? Every time she got close to unconsciousness, they would drag her from it once again, stabbing and poking and prodding and shocking. There was nothing left but pain. What did she have to lose? She could barely remember her own name anymore._

_“Good. Now all I want you to do is to pick up the phone. When you’re there, that’s all you need to do. Just pick up the phone.”_

_“I’ll pick up the phone,” she replied, her voice almost mechanical._

She jerked awake, her entire body still tingling from phantom shocks and serums.

Behind her, with his arms wrapped around her middle, Gérard Lacroix was still asleep, his deep breaths tickling the back of her neck.

She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the phone that every agent kept in their quarters and she briefly remembered a conversation with a familiar blond woman, who had asked her to give her a phone call if she had nightmares.

But the voice had been right. Sure enough, the light was blinking.

She slipped out of bed, and calmly, almost robotically, walked over to the device. She hesitated for only a moment, then picked it up, turning down the volume and holding it tightly to her ear so that the other person in the room would have no chance of being awoken by the noise.

The voice on the phone laughed quietly, the sound no less maniacal than it had been in person.

_“Well done… Widowmaker.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Widowmaker is here...
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I really appreciate the helpful feedback I've gotten, especially with the recommendations on how to portray Amélie :) I tried to make her seem a bit off, but not suspicious enough that Angela would expect anything more than PTSD, especially since she herself doesn't even know that she has been brainwashed either.
> 
> Anyway, I appreciate any comments or kudos you might want to give! And I'll see you all next time!


	9. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, loves! I just wanted to say sorry for not quite making my normal upload date! I've been having a touch of writer's block recently, and I really wanted to get this chapter right!
> 
> Summary of the possible triggers in the last chapter: Amélie's experience at Talon marked her in more ways than anyone thought. After falling asleep, she remembers a scene from her time in captivity, where she began to give in and submit to Talon's will, triggering her to pick up the phone in her room to receive orders.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to quickly address something (I hope it hasn't seemed this way, but I do want to make sure): I'm really not trying to portray Mercy as some kind of grieving widow or any of that silliness. The woman's really tough, especially with the kind of crap I've put her through in pretty much this whole story, but with that being said, she is going through a lot, and depression is a bitch. Sometimes, it just feels like the whole world is against us, and no matter how much we try to hold it together, everything just hurts.
> 
> Of course, if any of you are feeling this way, or anything similar, it can be super helpful to look for help in a friend or a loved one. And I'm willing to help too if anyone needs it! Stay safe, loves!

Angela returned to her office, dropping her lab coat over the back of her chair before collapsing into it tiredly. So much had happened in so little time, and her body felt like it was running on nothing but caffeine and her last vestiges of motivation.

Her heart ached for her best friend. It was obvious that Talon had left their mark on Amélie, whether she remembered it or not. The brain deals with trauma however it can, so it was hardly surprising if she had found herself unable to remember some of the horrors she must have experienced.

And she had likely suffered a lot: if the appointments of the other hostages were anything to go by, Talon’s treatment of their prisoners should be considered a crime against humanity. Over the past few hours, she had learned, in rather nauseating detail, of just some of the vast array of torture techniques those psychopaths had been using on their captives. And with so many similar stories, she highly doubted Amélie had experienced anything different, despite her lack of negative memories about her imprisonment.

Between that and the evidence Angela had already found of old wounds all across her friend’s body, it was obvious that Amélie had been hurt by her captors. Extensively. Angela’s heart gave another painful throb out of regret and pity for her friend.

_It wasn’t even her fault. She doesn’t work for Overwatch. She doesn’t even have any valuable information that Talon would want. It was all just pointless suffering._

It seemed that Talon had eventually reached the same conclusion, only giving up after _far_ too long when they realized she did not have the information they wanted. Not one of Amélie’s faint scars or internal bruises was any more recent than maybe two or three weeks ago, so it seemed that they had finally diverted their mission of torture to their other subjects when they confirmed that Amélie held no secrets for them to uncover.

She just wished that they had a proper psychiatrist to help her friend with the scars that _couldn’t_ be seen. It did make sense, when she thought about it, that the Overwatch leadership would want to investigate the Mental Health Department. Some of the “doctors” there were downright useless at the best of times, and the place seemed to simply _bleed_ money, even on simple projects.

But still, a lazy doctor is better than no doctor. And while Angela was doing her best, giving Talon’s ex-hostages a chance to talk about their experiences if they wanted to do so, she had little experience helping with _this_ kind of trauma. At least she had been able to give them the contacts for some of her more psychiatry-oriented colleagues however, so she could take comfort in the fact that they would not have to cope with her inexperience for long.

It was frustratingly ironic how the timing had worked out, with the department collapsing just when they needed them most.

_If only the head of Blackwatch’s medical division were not so deliberately obtuse, maybe we would have some answers already._

Angela felt another pang of anger towards the woman that had allowed this situation to occur. Moira O’Deorain had been a thorn in her side ever since Angela had first joined Overwatch. Although they had worked together at first, the other woman’s deeply questionable ethics had led to argument after argument, until their superiors had no choice but to separate them.

It had only gotten worse when Angela received her promotion. Moira felt slighted, and perhaps even a little offended that Angela had been chosen over her despite her years of additional experience. She had steadily become even more uncooperative, disregarding orders and always doing things her own way.

Angela had considered having her fired for a while, but with their history of disagreement, she did not want it to look as if she were firing her for the wrong reasons. But as it turned out, the problem was solved for her when Moira eventually overstepped. One of her experiments went too far, breaking far too many parts of the Hippocratic Oath for the Overwatch leadership to ignore. She had her medical license revoked, and Angela had been able to finally fire her, hoping that she would be gone for good.

But Angela should have known better than to think she could be rid of that woman so easily. Blackwatch had scooped her up, and she had stuck around for years, continuing to be uncannily involved in many of the organization’s more questionable decisions, but somehow avoiding most of the scrutiny.

And now, here she was, unsurprisingly getting in the way again.

Angela wanted nothing more than to storm down to Moira’s quarters right now and demand an answer to why the department was being so poorly managed, but she forced herself to calm down. Commander Morrison was looking into it, and the last thing she needed was to further antagonize him by taking matters into her own hands.

She just needed to trust that he would actually find some answers tomorrow.

As much as she detested the idea, she needed to follow her own advice for Amélie. She was exhausted, and more than once, she had felt her eyelids closing of their own free will. Even if she had tried to confront Moira, she would have been lucky to get through the entire conversation without falling asleep on her feet.

Everything else could be dealt with in the morning. Then, she could catch up with her friend and see how she was doing.

When she finally found her bed, she collapsed into it, too tired to even undress, and was claimed by sleep before her head even hit the pillow.

* * *

Amélie wasn’t at breakfast.

Angela thought little of it at first. It was only fair that she wanted some time to herself to recover from her time as a Talon captive. And who was Angela to judge if she wanted to spend a little well-deserved time catching up with her husband?

But as the morning went on, Angela was becoming more and more nervous. Neither Amélie nor Gérard had been seen since last night, and if it was because her friend was experiencing PTSD that made her too afraid to even leave her room, Angela wanted to know about it.

And it definitely wasn’t like Amélie to just abandon her to worry without at least telling her where she was.

Unable to bear it any longer, Angela finally gave into her fears and left the laboratory in the hands of one of her coworkers, rapidly making her way to the door which she knew housed Gérard’s quarters.

She paused for just a moment outside, wondering whether she was overreacting. Maybe Amélie was still sleeping off her exhaustion. Or maybe they were not even in the room, having gone for a walk or something of the sort. But Angela was worried, so she proceeded to knock on the door.

Several moments passed, but there was no response.

Hoping that they simply had not heard her, Angela tried again, louder, but yet again, there was no response.

She tried calling them, but only became even more concerned when she heard their ringtones faintly through the material of the closed door. Their phones had never left the room.

“Gérard! Amélie! Open the door! It’s Angela!” she yelled, pounding the door with her fist in an effort to get their attention.

Again, no response.

There was no way they could not hear her. While the doors to agents’ quarters were thick enough to provide some privacy and security, they were nowhere near thick enough to prevent her friends from being woken by her noise, especially since she _knew_ Amélie was a perpetually light sleeper.

She rattled the door handle, fully ready to order Athena to unlock it on the grounds of a medical emergency or kick it down herself. But it turned out, she didn’t need to.

The door was unlocked.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, Angela pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was dim inside, the only illumination coming from the pale mid-morning sunlight filtering through the open window. The curtains fluttered in the cold breeze, causing the light to shift and move, giving the room and ominous, threateningly abandoned appearance.

Angela scanned the room hurriedly, looking for some sign of her friend, and froze in horror at what she saw. On the bed, the sheets were somewhat drawn back to reveal the pale body of a man, dressed for sleep, but so clearly not doing so. His chest did not rise and fall, and his heart did not beat. Blood had already stopped its slow drip from his slashed throat, creating a massive brick-red stain of drying blood on the sheets.

Gérard was far beyond saving, his body already having begun to stiffen and pale in the stained bedsheets.

And Amélie was nowhere to be seen.

_Oh my God._

Maybe she opened the window to let a Talon assassin into the room. Or maybe she did it herself. Either way, Angela was too late. Either way, she had lost her best friend once more to Talon.

And this time, it felt even worse.

Because it wasn’t just her body that they had taken this time. It was her mind. All because Angela was too _stupid_ to see it.

It should have been obvious. The PTSD, the blurry memories, even her surprisingly neutral emotions toward people that _tortured her._ Things that should have screamed Stockholm Syndrome _at least_ , but she hadn’t even noticed.

She hadn’t noticed that _her best friend_ had been brainwashed by her captors to do whatever they wanted. They certainly had had enough time to do it, but Angela, like the _idiot_ that she was, had just assumed it was simple PTSD and told her to _go home_ , effectively sealing Gérard’s fate in as many words.

She might as well have shot Gérard herself for all the good she did.

And her friend was gone now. Probably for good this time.

 _“I’m so sorry,”_ the doctor mouthed silently, collapsing into the chair behind her and burying her face in her hands. She thought she had finally managed to accomplish something good. She had rescued her friend from Talon, saving her from the indeterminate amounts of pain they would continue to cause in their interrogation, but instead, she had only made things worse.

Now, she had lost not one, but two of her friends to Talon. And she had no one to blame but herself.

* * *

_Meanwhile:_

It was easy to break into the base’s laboratory.

All it took was a few words about a medical emergency and the doctor Angela had left on duty had sprinted off without a second thought.

 _‘It wasn’t even a lie,’_ the red-haired woman thought to herself with a little smirk as she connected her flash drive to the lab computer. _‘Unfortunately, they’re at least a couple of hours too late.’_

It hadn’t been hard to find a hacker that could write a code to bypass Overwatch’s outdated cybersecurity systems. Luckily, the laboratory computers were on their own network, not connected to any of Athena’s systems, because if they were, the data would be almost unobtainable. Hacking into the AI’s database was nearly impossible.

Her deception had not been as subtle as it should have been, but it didn’t matter anymore. She knew they would come to her with difficult questions sooner or later, but she would be long gone by then. Before she disappeared, though, there was a piece of technology she wanted.

At the back of the lab, sealed in a series of vaulted refrigerators, lay the vials of that seemingly miraculous glowing golden substance. One of the most advanced medical technologies in the world, and the secret to Dr. Ziegler’s success.

The woman had access to the most advanced bioregenerative nanorobots in the world, and yet she let herself be held back from true achievement by her precious ‘ethics’. But Moira would no longer allow one woman’s ‘conscience’ to continue to stand in the way of real progress. Sometimes matters needed to be taken into her own hands, after all.

They would never even know she had been here. The files were easy to copy once the security had been broken. And even if they noticed a few vials were missing, a quickly modified record would easily convince them that they must be imagining things and that those vials had never even existed.

With the vials of biotic fluid tucked into her coat and the flash drive in her pocket, Moira made her silent escape from Overwatch. No one even questioned her as she left the building and walked down the road to the extraction point, stepping into a black SUV well outside of the range of any of the base’s security cameras.

It was almost laughable how easy it was.

She sat, glancing once at the blank, emotionless face of the former Amélie Lacroix, and felt herself smirk. Everything really was going perfectly. Then, she gestured to the driver, and the SUV’s hover drive engaged, carrying them from the Overwatch Headquarters for the last time.

Moira didn’t look back. She had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, Moira came across as quite a bit colder than I had initially planned, but it seemed to work. I'm really sorry for anyone out there who's a fan of her character, but she did have a significant impact on Reaper's transformation, so I thought, why not Widowmaker's too? We know her morals are... ambiguous at best (I mean, as far as I can tell, her purple beam thing is basically similar to Mercy's nanorobots, but reprogrammed to destroy tissue instead of regenerate it) so it made sense to me to imply she had quite a bit of influence over Widowmaker's transformation.
> 
> But anyway, I suppose that's wrapping up the Widowmaker plotline in this story. She'll definitely be showing up again in the future though, but not for a little while. In the next chapter, though, Angela may or may not be having an encounter with a pretty familiar ghost, so there's that to look forward to! Until the next time!


	10. The Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here we are with the final chapter of part 2! Sorry again for how inconsistent I've been with my uploads recently, but I really hope this chapter makes up for it! Also, I realized I never included the character death tag for the previous chapter, so I've added that. Anyway, I hope you all like this one :)

Alcohol.

It is a curious concept.

Its existence seems almost pointless, as it usually provides the human body with little in the way of hydration or nutrition. But despite its apparent lack of purpose, nearly every culture on Earth has developed some form or another, and people have been creating and distilling it for thousands of years.

And throughout all that time, human creativity has been hard at work, making it so that an entire cultural study could be done just on its different types and how they are drunk.

It can be made from almost anything:

Potatoes, grapes, barley, cane.

It comes in every color:

Brown, purple, even clear.

It even comes in every shape:

Tall, dainty glasses.

Short, squat tumblers.

But most ironically, it comes with every emotion:

Happiness and fun.

Or sadness and self-loathing.

It symbolizes humanity’s most oxymoronic tendencies: that the drink that we use at parties to loosen up and feel better eventually leads to a hangover that does the exact opposite. That the same drink that is used to create those enjoyable memories with our friends often ends up making us forget the experience entirely.

Maybe that is why sometimes, the beverage that is so commonly associated with “fun” and “relaxation” is also used to forget a painful past. Difficult breakups, lost jobs, heavy stress, and countless other situations lead us to take solace in alcohol, despite the fact that it almost never really makes us much happier.

But we do it anyway, because sometimes the pain is too great, and the sadness too strong. It becomes so debilitating that any promise, or even just a suggestion, of respite is preferable to wallowing in our own self-destructive thoughts for even a moment longer.

And God, did Angela want to forget.

For over eight months, misery had been using her heart for target practice. Almost everyone she cared about was gone, and it was her fault.

Amélie was either dead or with Talon: too far gone for any help… if she even wanted it anymore. And Talon had finally succeeded in killing Gérard. All because Angela had been so happy to see her friend back that she didn’t even notice that something was wrong.

Genji, too, had all but disappeared from her life. Although he had hated his cybernetic body at first, over a few years, the emotion had steadily given way to a close friendship with the doctor that had saved his life. But recently, Angela struggled to look at him without remembering the looks of pain and hatred from those earlier times, the memories providing a constant reminder of just how badly she had failed him.

For all of that, the guilt ate away at her, but especially when she thought about Fareeha. Even after years apart, they had fallen into their old banter so easily, and Angela had been eager to renew a friendship with someone she thought she had lost. But then, she proceeded to ruin that friendship in the very same night, and they had not spoken since.

And then there was Lena. Poor, sweet, beautiful Lena. Gone because Angela had not been there for her when she needed it. Angela had fallen for that marvelous woman faster than ever before, and it sometimes felt like she was still falling.

Sometimes, especially on nights like this one, Angela could almost hear her cheerful voice or her adorable laugh while she tried to drown her thoughts in the bottom of a vodka bottle.

She was ashamed. She had always prided herself on her ability to keep her emotions under control, but that control had been slipping recently. Angela knew that if Lena were here, she would tell her to get on with her life. She would never have wanted the doctor still regretting the past after all this time, and she knew that.

_But if Lena were here, I wouldn’t need to get on with my life, would I? She would give me a kiss, then start talking about something else. Probably something about an airplane. She was always so passionate about them._

That was probably why Angela found herself wandering down to the hangar tonight, a half-empty bottle clasped in her hand as she tried not to stumble between dark, empty rows of aircraft, lonely and desperate for some kind of connection with the long-gone pilot.

_Lena would have had something to tell me about every single one of them._

She would look at her, those beautiful eyes full of passion and joy, and with that voice she reserved _just for Angela,_ she could tell her a story about almost any plane in the building.

Especially that one…

At the back corner, in a sectioned-off space, sat the remnants of Lena’s final mission. Angela made her way over to it, taking in every charred fragment of the Slipstream tearily as memories surged to her mind. The plane was in basically the same condition as it was all those months ago, when its flaming ruin had tumbled to the ground before her very eyes. Almost perfectly preserved, save for the collection of dust, for use in a memorial that was to be unveiled in Tracer’s honor on the anniversary of the accident.

She was suddenly even more thankful that they were not planning to scrap the ruined aircraft. She had not been down here since that fateful day, but standing in this building, among the vehicles that had brought so much joy and passion to Lena’s world, Angela’s viciously self-deprecating mind could begin to feel a bit of that connection that it so sorely missed.

_“Tell Angela I love her…”_

Lena’s words echoed in her head, their sheer sadness and honesty searing her straight to the core. She let out a broken sob, trailing her finger gently over the fractured metal as she remembered those last few moments. The world swam before her, and her inebriated brain could not help but feel slightly less alone, as if the mere contact with Tracer’s aircraft was enough to bring her just a little bit closer.

She knew it was stupid, but it almost felt like the woman was in the room with her as she touched it, the fragments bringing some weird form of comfort to the doctor. For just an instant, she actually thought she heard a voice, soft and tearful, but that was just her drunken, desperate mind playing tricks on her.

But there it was again, ever so slightly louder this time. The sound was more audible now, not just a gust of wind or creaking pipe that her imagination had transformed into a voice. There was a melody to it, quiet and sad, and even though Angela could not discern any words, she felt her heart reach out in sympathy. The voice was obviously a young woman’s, sounding so unbelievably, _heartbreakingly_ lonely as she sang silently to herself.

The melody was briefly broken by a soft sniffle, and Angela came to a decision. This stranger was so clearly _hurting_ , and maybe they could provide each other a bit of comfort. She checked the level of the bottle in her hand, then, reassured, swallowed a little more of the burning liquid. There would be plenty to share if the other woman wanted some.

She approached the direction of the sound, which appeared to come from the back corner, behind the unlit form of one of the aircraft. Part of her just wanted to stop and continue listening, not wanting to round the corner and intrude on such an intimate moment.

But she shook her head, resolving to continue. She was _not_ about to fail someone _else_ that needed her help; not with all the guilt she already carried.

As she approached, she became aware of a light of some kind, faintly illuminating the wall with a misty, pale blue glow. It was eerie, in a way, especially when it gave a brief flicker, just as the woman’s quiet melody seemed to stutter briefly.

No, it didn’t stutter. It _skipped._ Almost like one of those old vinyl records.

Eyebrows pinched in confusion, Angela paused briefly.

_That was strange._

But everything continued, just as it had before, making Angela almost think she had imagined it.

_Whatever that was, she needs my help._

So Angela rounded the tail of the aircraft, and her jaw dropped. The woman had her face buried in her hands, so she had not seen the doctor yet, but Angela would recognize that shock of spiky hair anywhere. When combined with the woman’s lithe frame, which was clothed in a slightly singed Overwatch flight suit, there was no mistaking the person sitting on the bench before her eyes.

_Lena._

Instantly, the tears were back, more forceful than ever. The woman before her was _translucent,_ her entire being glowing with an ethereal blue light. She shimmered vaguely, not even seeming solid as the edges of her form shifted in and out of focus.

She looked like a ghost.

But Angela did _not_ believe in ghosts. They weren’t real.

Were they?

 _‘I was at her funeral,’_ her brain unhelpfully supplied. _‘I watched them bury her.’_

How else could she be here? Her plane had _crashed._ Angela had seen it with her own eyes.

The doctor watched as another glowing, semitransparent tear tracked its way down Lena’s face, the sheer, unfiltered _misery_ that emanated from the woman as she consoled herself with that soft, wordless song striking Angela straight to her core. Her heart throbbed with empathy, feeling almost as if it were trying to leap from her chest in an effort to get closer to the woman she loved.

_Why?! Why is the universe torturing me like this?!_

As the other woman let out another sob, breaking up her quiet melody once more with a pang of sadness, Angela could no longer remain silent. “Lena?” she whispered, feeling her heart shatter all over again as she watched the woman freeze briefly at the sound, before her tears began to flow even more freely.

* * *

For Lena, the voices had always been the worst part.

Sometimes, they were barely intelligible, their tones and words dulled to a distorted mumble, as if she were listening to them underwater.

Other times, they were almost clear, with entire words and phrases becoming distinguishable from the white noise that permeated her world. They were often jumbled and out of order, but at least she could hear them.

Infrequently, she could even tell _who_ was speaking. Voices became almost recognizable, and on various occasions, she was certain she could hear Commander Morrison, Winston, or even Angela.

_God, I miss them._

The voices just reminded her of how lonely she was.

Most of the time, her world was a misty blue haze of nothing. No people, no objects, _nothing_ was visible, and Lena could swear she was going crazy. She had taken to speaking, or even singing to herself, just so _something_ could break the constant monotonous emptiness.

She lived for the moments when a place would come into focus, objects and people taking shape through the heavy fog, giving her a brief glimpse into a world she had almost forgotten. She would see and hear people, talking and interacting as they went about their daily lives, and to Lena, it was one of the most beautiful sights in the universe. Even things as simple as a smile or a laugh never failed to bring tears to her eyes as she was reminded of just how _badly_ she missed those things.

The scenes did not always make sense. Times and places flowed into each other fluidly, leaving Lena disoriented and floundering in their strange and terrifying river. One moment, she was in the present, watching an Omnic rights protest in London, and the next, she was hundreds of years in the past, sitting with a maid for some wealthy French family. Or she was watching the unveiling of the Statue of Liberty, its skin still in gleaming and untarnished copper, before being transported to a gladiator fight in Ancient Rome.

But, surprisingly frequently, she also found herself back at Overwatch headquarters, watching the people she had come to know wandering the halls and conversing with each other. The first several times, she had even tried responding. She would speak, shout, even beg for help. Anything to try and get people’s attention. Anything to have someone _just notice her._

But no one ever did. People just went about their lives without her. She could see and hear some things that happened, but no one ever saw or heard her. It was _horrible._

So when Lena found herself in that familiar hangar yet again, with nothing but still, silent planes for company, she could not take it anymore. She found a bench near the back of the hangar, and thankfully this time she was solid enough not to pass straight through it, so she collapsed into the bench, allowing her heartbroken sobs to escape her body once again. She wasn’t even sure when she started singing, but it was _something_ to do, so she didn’t stop.

When she eventually heard her name being called, she ignored it at first. She visibly tensed at the sound, but she didn’t look up, her tears only intensifying as she shook her head roughly. “Not again,” she stuttered as she mashed her fingers into her temples. “Please… please not again… It… it’s not real, Lena. It never is.”

But then the voice responded, and her heart leapt. She _knew_ that voice. It was the voice she missed above all others, the one she had never even dared to hope she would hear again, “It’s me, Lena. Please, just, look at me, Liebchen.”

Lena hesitated, but she could not resist the temptation. _Angela_ was speaking to her. As if she could _see_ her. She turned her head slowly, but when her eyes landed on the doctor’s, she froze, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Those beautiful blue eyes that she had missed for so long were filled with tears, looking a little unfocused, but fixed _directly on her._

“Angie?” she trembled, her voice breaking with emotion. “Oh my god, it’s really you.”

Lena’s heart filled with too many emotions to count, many of them made unfamiliar by time, but all fiercer and more passionate than she had ever felt them before.

Affection.

Love.

Tranquility.

But most of all, hope.

After immeasurable time in her blue-curtained world, Lena had given up on any chance that she might ever be seen. She believed she would be stuck with nothing but her own thoughts for the rest of her life. But suddenly, none of that was true. _Angela_ was talking to her, and Lena thought she must be dreaming, or that she was finally going crazy.

“It’s really me,” Angela choked, her eyes never wandering from Lena’s as both women soaked up each other’s presence. Looking dazed, the doctor sat beside Lena and smiled at her, which made the brunette’s heart clench painfully.

“Oh my god, love, I missed you so much,” Lena whispered, her hand moving to take Angela’s.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly they fell back under each other’s spell, even after so long. One look into each other’s eyes, and so many beautiful memories surfaced that they were both left speechless, their eyes full of moisture as they made contact for the first time in months.

So it was a harsh jolt back to reality when their fingers passed directly through each other, as if Lena’s hand were no more substantial than a cloud. Their eye contact broke, and the two women looked down at where their hands would have joined. Seeing her ghostly blue skin moving easily through Angela’s, Lena withdrew as if she had been burned, unable to prevent the quiet sob that escaped her lips.

“Am I… am I dead?” she stuttered, drawing up her knees and hugging them to her chest as more tears rolled down her face.

Angela winced at the question, a look of pain passing over her face. As badly as she wanted to reassure Lena, it was clear that she was asking herself the same thing. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I really don’t know.”

She probably was. How else could… whatever _this_ was… be happening to her?

Lena nodded her acceptance, still hugging her knees. “I never expected it to be so lonely, you know?” she commented at the realization, but she immediately regretted it. Seeing the sadness that overflowed in Angela’s eyes at her statement, Lena wished she could make her feel better, any way that she could.

It took a moment, but Lena eventually managed to arrange her face into a smile. It was small, and rather sad, but it was a smile. “I guess… I guess I should probably get around to haunting you properly, then, huh? I feel like I’m doing a pretty dreadful job of it, love.”

Angela didn’t laugh, but at least the comment made her crack a small smile to match Lena’s. “I think you’re doing just fine,” she replied, swallowing a little more of the harsh liquid in the bottle she had been carrying.

It was strange, really, how Lena had spent all that time, what felt like years in solitude, picturing this very conversation and imagining what she would say. She had prepared words to tell Angela what had happened to her, and to ask her about herself, and to remind her how much she missed her. But now that it was actually happening, all those words escaped her, and she found herself lost in the endless, hypnotic pools of Angela’s eyes.

The other woman did not seem to mind, though. Their eye contact was something special, seemingly lasting forever with only blinks to interrupt it as they wordlessly tried to convey every heartfelt emotion that they had experienced in each other’s absence.

Angela really was beautiful. Even though Lena had every centimeter of her committed directly to memory, perfectly preserving her in her imagination as a way of keeping her lonely blue world at bay, she still took Lena’s breath away.

Everything about her made Lena wish she could simply cup the doctor’s face in her hands and kiss her senseless. Her beautiful blond hair, cascading down to her shoulders in white-gold locks, her silky, pristine skin, interspersed with the dried tracks of tears that only made Lena want to kiss everything better, and of course, her eyes.

Angela’s eyes were the most beautiful blue Lena had ever seen. Not like the hazy, pale blue that had come to scare her so much. Nothing like that at all. Angela’s eyes were deeper, a darker, almost sapphire blue that reminded Lena of the ocean on a summer afternoon. It was a passionate color, one in which Lena lost herself so easily whenever their gazes locked.

She had no idea how long they sat there, hardly able to believe what they were seeing. Words were barely necessary to convey the depth of the emotions that were pulled forth in that moment, and they just remained there for several minutes, letting their hearts swell with the warmth of each other’s presence, and thinking about what this could possibly mean.

Lena knew what must be going on in her girlfriend’s head, because the same thoughts were happening in her own.

_Why can we finally see each other? Am I going crazy? Is someone going to walk in and find me alone and talking to myself?_

Although, she thought darkly, she was at a little less of a risk of the last one, considering nobody had even been _able_ to see her for the past several… months? Years? Lena was not entirely sure how long it had been, but it had felt like an eternity. Which just made it all the more beautiful when her wonderful angel had finally laid eyes upon her after all this time.

Lena wanted to ask her what had happened while they were apart. She wanted to speak to her for hours, catching up on anything and everything she had missed. She wanted to know how the doctor’s research was going, and whether she had succeeded on her projects, and whether she was happy, and how she was spending her free time. A great deal must have happened to her since they had last spoken, and Lena wanted to know all of it.

She would have, too, but her thoughts were scattered as the hazy, ethereal mist began to creep back into her view, clouding the hangar with that same, terrifying blue curtain that so often filled her world. Lena let out a choked sob as she felt the universe begin to take her once again from the woman she had come to adore.

 _“I love you,”_ Lena cried, her heart shattering once again as the world faded from view.

* * *

Angela needed another drink.

No, to deal with this, she needed several more drinks. Or maybe she needed to be completely sober, so she could figure out if this was all just some figment of her imagination.

Because was she seriously talking to _Lena’s ghost?!_

There was no way that was possible, was there?

But Lena was _right there_ , glowing with that unnatural blue light as she tried to make Angela smile with an attempted joke about being bad at haunting her. It should not have worked. All in all, it made her want to cry more than laugh, but just knowing that it was _Lena_ brought back such a feeling of familiarity and warmth that Angela actually did end up smiling.

Lena paused for a moment, lost in thought, before opening her mouth and taking a breath, her eyes full of her unasked questions, and Angela was prepared to answer every single one of them. She wanted to speak to her until the sun rose, and even that might not be enough.

But then, in the blink of an eye, Lena’s entire body _stuttered._ Her entire form flickered, like one of those ancient film projectors, and she almost seemed to _skip_ ahead slightly. For a brief moment, she was positioned slightly differently, the dried tears on her cheeks having been replaced with new ones as the woman let out a heartbroken, stuttering cry before disappearing entirely.

 _“I love you,”_ came her agonized voice, as staticky and intermittent as a radio, and the tears leapt back to Angela’s eyes. She tried to reply, but her words went unheard.

Lena was gone. Again.

Angela didn’t even know how long she waited for another sign of Lena. Hours upon hours ticked by, passing excruciatingly slowly as she hoped, _prayed_ for Lena to reappear.

But eventually, days of inconsistent sleep and chaotic, uncontrollable feelings took their toll on the doctor. She was exhausted: mentally, physically, and emotionally, and she could not stop the way her eyes began to drift shut.

When she made it back to her room, Angela was barely conscious, some small, still-functional part of her brain knowing it was unsafe to fall asleep in an aviation hangar and dragging up some final reserves of strength to get her body back into her bed.

There, the doctor finally fell asleep, her dreams restless and confusing, but most of all, full of that spiky brown hair and that cheeky smile.

Maybe she had been hallucinating.

But it was the best hallucination she could imagine having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it for this part of the story! From now on, things are definitely looking up for our two main characters :) Definitely some well-deserved happiness coming up for them! (Unfortunately, I wasn't able to do a double upload like last time, but I really wanted to get this one out there, so part 3 should be up next week)
> 
> Translations:  
> Liebchen - a term of endearment, like "dear" or "darling"
> 
> Anyway, if you've liked this story so far, I absolutely appreciate any kudos or comments you might have, and I'll see you all in part 3!


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